VIRGINIA  F.   TOWNSEND'S  BOOKS. 


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"S/RS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN." 
MOSTLY  MARJORIE  DAY. 
A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 
BUT  A  PHILISTINE. 

A   WOMAN'S  WORD,   AND  HOW  SHE  KEPT  IT. 
DARRYLL  GAP;  OR,   WHETHER  IT  PAID. 
ONLY  GIRLS. 
THAT  QUEER  GIRL 
LENOX  DARE. 

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BOSTON. 


SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN! 


BY 

VIRGINIA   F.    TOWNSEND 

AUTHOR  OF  "  MOSTLY  MARJORIE  DAY  "  "  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS  " 

"THE  HOLLANDS"  "THAT  QUEER  GIRL" 

"  ONLY  GIRLS  "  ETC. 


LEE  AND  SHEPARD  PUBLISHERS 

10      MILK       STREET 

BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT,  18SM,  BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD 


All  Rights  Reserved 


SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN 


ELECTBOTYPINO  BY  C.  J.  PETERS  &  Sou,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
PRESSWOBK  HY  S.  J.  PAKKIIII.L  &  Co. 


To  some  Names, 

Not  written  here; 
But  which  mean  to  me 

A  world  happier  and  dearer. 

V.  F.  T. 


2128524 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  FAMILY  TREE;  THE  SAPLING  BOUGHS  .      1 

II.    SEVENTEEN  AND  NINETEEN 11 

III.  A  ROAD,  A  RIDE,  AND  SOME  RHYMES  ...    21 

IV.  How  THE  HOUR  STRUCK 35 

V.    A  CRITICAL  FIVE  MINUTES 40 

VI.    A  BREAKFAST  DIALOGUE 54 

VII.     CAPITALIST  AND  SOPHOMORE 61 

VIII.    A  MEETING  ON  THE  MALL 66 

IX.  WHEN  SHE  WAS  LITTLE  NABBY  WAKE    .    .    71 

X.  GENTLEMAN  OR  SNOB  —  WHICH  ?      ....    88 

XI.    CONCERNING  DAKE  CRAMLEY 94 

XII.  A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION  .     .    .  100 

XIII.  KEYNOTES  AND  QUICKSANDS Ill 

XIV.  THE  QUIET  BEFORE  THE  STORM 117 

XV.    A  JULY  NIGHT'S  CRISIS 123 

XVI.     THE  QUIET  AFTER  THE  STORM 130 

XVII.     A  NORTH  END  DRAMA 136 

XVIII.  MRS.  JEMIMA  BRAY  HAS  A  HEART  ....  145 

XIX.     HER  NAME  WAS  DAISY  Ross 153 

XX.  RED  BERRY  ROADS  AND  AMOURY  ROOST.     .  161 

XXI.  AN  OBJECT  LESSON  IN  ALTRUISM     ....  171 

XXII.     SOME  YOUNG  ROMANCE 176 

XXIII.     DEAR  DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT 183 

v 


VI  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.    THE  DAYS  OF  THY  YOUTH 191 

XXV.     A  FRESH  PROBLEM 199 

XXVI.    A  STORY  AND  A  SEQUENCE 207 

XXVII.    FACTS  —  WITH  SUPPRESSIONS 211 

XXVIII.    A  HARD-WRUNG  CONSENT 217 

XXIX.    ONE  THING  AND  ANOTHER 224 

XXX.  "A  POOR  LITTLE  INNERCENT  PAGAN"     .    .  231 

XXXI.    NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  KED  KNOLLS 240 

XXXII.    AN  EVENING 256 

XXXIII.  CHANGES  AND  FORECASTS 264 

XXXIV.  SOME  PAINFUL  SURPRISES 268 

XXXV.    A  CLIMAX 280 

XXXVI.  YOUNG  LIFE  LOOKING  DEATH  IN  THE  FACE  294 

XXXVII.    WHERE  WAS  TOM  ? 302 

XXXVIII.    AFTER  THE  TORNADO 310 

XXXIX.  FIBST  AND  LAST  —  DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT  .    .  317 


SIRS,   ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


THE   FAMILY   TREE ;   THE  SAPLING  BOUGHS 

"  EVERYBODY,"  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  says, 
"cannot  live  by  the  road  which  leads  to  Lexington." 

Dorothy  Draycott  did. 

She  was  conscious  of  the  fact  too.  It  seemed  to 
her  it  was  the  best  place  to  live  on  the  planet ; 
she  had  a  secret  feeling  that  she  must  have  been 
a  different  sort  of  girl  if  she  had  not  been  born 
and  nurtured  on  that  old  historic  highway. 

Sometimes  she  would  wake  in  the  early  morning 
from  the  sound  sleep  of  young  girlhood  and  perfect 
health,  and  half  imagine  she  heard  the  tramp  of  the 
long  British  column  shaking  the  ground  like  thunder 
as  it  hurried  past  on  its  way  to  Concord ;  she  would 
see  the  flashing  of  the  bayonets,  the  gay  banners 
waving  over  all  the  scarlet  bravery ;  and  she  would 
hear  the  beating  of  the  drums,  filling  the  air  of  that 
bright,  soft  April  morning  more  than  a  century  ago. 

Dorothy  had  a  good  many  traditions  and  events  of 
1 


2  "  SIRS,   ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

those  days  stored  away  in  safe  corners  of  her  young 
memory.  The  house  where  she  had  been  born  and 
lived  all  her  life  occupied  the  site  of  an  older  home- 
stead over  whose  threshold  her  great-grandfather 
had  passed  to  join  the  minute-men  mustering,  since 
early  dawn,  to  the  call  of  the  alarm-bells  ;  not  dream- 
ing —  those  Massachusetts  yeomen  —  how  from  all 
their  village  belfries  was  ringing  out  the  reveille 
of  a  new  dawn  of  freedom  to  the  world. 

Dorothy  could  have  pointed  out  to  you  in  the 
garret  roof  two  old  rafters,  so  worn  and  weather- 
beaten  that  they  formed  a  marked  contrast  to  the 
later  timbers.  One  of  these  rafters  held  a  bullet ; 
the  other  bore  marks  of  several.  Both  had  been 
taken  from  the  house  where  the  elder  Draycott 
generations  had  lived  and  died ;  the  family  having 
immigrated  to  this  country  in  the  decade  which  fol- 
lowed the  one  whose  greatest  glory  is  the  sailing  of 
the  little  bark  Mayflower  with  its  precious  freight- 
age of  one  hundred  and  two  souls  from  the  old 
English  seaport  of  Plymouth. 

Among  Dorothy's  earliest  memories  was  that  of 
an  afternoon  when  her  grandfather  had  taken  her 
up  to  this  garret  and  showed  her  the  old  bullet- 
pierced  rafters.  Then  he  took  her  on  his  knee  and 
related  the  story  of  the  British  march  from  Boston 
to  Concord,  as  he  had  learned  it  from  his  own 
father,  who  had  borne  a  conspicuous  part  in  that 
day's  events. 


THE  FAMILY   THEE;   THE   SAPLING   BOUGHS        3 

The  story  had  made  a  profound  impression  on 
the  eager,  sensitive  child,  as  she  sat  on  her  grand- 
father's knee  in  the  dim,  dark-raftered  garret,  and 
drank  in  every  syllable,  while  his  white,  handsome 
old  head  leaned  down  to  her  glossy  young  one. 
What  a  long  while  ago  it  seemed  !  She  had  hardly 
reached  her  fourth  birthday  then ;  and  she  had 
passed  her  seventeenth  now.  Dorothy  felt  old  when 
she  remembered  that. 

She  was  a  slender,  tallish  girl  whom  I  must  leave 
to  speak  mostly  for  herself  in  this  little  drama  which 
is  to  occupy  only  a  few  months  of  her  life. 

Many  people  called  Dorothy  Draycott  pretty,  but 
there  were  those  whose  glance  was  most  penetrative, 
and  whose  feeling  for  words  was  finest,  who  rather 
indignantly  denied  this  —  people  who  insisted  that 
the  girl  was  beautiful  with  that  rare  kind  of  beauty 
which  unfolds  and  ripens  into  a  slow,  far  woman- 
hood, and  which  is  of  such  intrinsic  quality  that 
it  ends  only  with  life. 

Everybody  admitted,  however,  that  she  had  a  beau- 
tiful-shaped head,  which  carried  fitly  its  mass  of  rich 
young  hair,  its  darkness  all  alive  with  flashing 
bronze  tints  whenever  the  sun  had  a  fair  chance  at 
it ;  her  olive  skin,  too,  was  of  fine  texture,  and  had  a 
wholesome  clearness.  Her  features  were  delicately 
moulded,  but  not  small  —  these  not  belonging  to 
her  ancestral  type.  Her  mouth  was  large,  and  it 
had  its  pouts  and  its  grave  lines,  but  smiled  often ; 


4  "SIRS,  ONLY  "SEVENTEEN" 

and  when  you  saw  the  smile  you  forgot  the  red 
of  the  lips,  and  the  perfect  teeth  behind  them.  Her 
e3res  had  the  dark  rich  shade  of  ancient  much- 
polished  mahogany ;  but  here,  again,  you  did  not 
oftenest  think  of  their  color,  because  of  something 
which  lay  behind  that,  and  was  their  life  and  glory. 

Dorothy  Draycott  was  an  only  daughter.  She 
had  one  brother — a  Harvard  undergraduate  —  two 
years  her  senior,  who  was  the  pride,  the  delight,  and 
torment  of  his  young  sister's  life. 

As  they  were  very  clever  young  people,  running 
over  with  gay  spirits  and  love  of  fun,  they  were 
always  matching  their  wits  against  each  other  — 
sometimes  one  and  sometimes  the  other  getting  the 
better  in  their  verbal  combats. 

An  only  daughter,  and  her  father  and  mother 
would  have  said  to  themselves  —  such  a  daughter ! 

o 

Dorothy  had  been  much  petted  and  indulged;  but 
her  parents  were  too  sensible  to  spoil  her.  There 
was  stuff  in  the  making  of  this  girl,  too,  as  you  will 
find  out,  not  easily  spoiled. 

Dorothy  Draycott  was,  however,  unspeakably  for- 
tunate in  having  such  a  father  and  mother.  He  was 
a  man  in  his  prime  —  a  broker  in  Boston.  He  had 
inherited  those  homestead  acres  which  had  so  im- 
mensely increased  in  value  since  the  first  Draycott 
settled  on  them,  before  the  middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  The  rest  of  his  fortune  —  it  was 
by  no  means  a  conspicuous  one  —  Donald  Draycott 


THE   FAMILY   TREE;    THE   SAPLING   BOUGHS         5 

had,  by  his  own  business  shrewdness,  amassed  for 
himself.  He  had  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  sterling 
character.  Those  who  knew  him  best  pronounced 
him  a  rare,  noble-souled  fellow.  He,  like  his  son, 
had  gone  to  Harvard ;  and  his  early  predilections 
for  a  scholar's  life  had  survived  all  the  wear  and 
tear  of  business,  and  saved  him  from  making  his 
stocks  and  bonds  the  idols  to  which  soul  and  body 
must  be  sacrificed. 

"Of  course,  I  might  have  been  a  richer  man, 
Grace,"  he  would  sometimes  say  to  his  wife,  "if  I 
had  put  my  heart  and  soul  into  the  money-grubbing; 
but  in  case  I  had  turned  you  out  a  millionaire  there 
would  have  been  nothing  left  besides." 

"I  never  pined  for  millionaires!"  Mrs.  Draycott 
would  reply  gayly.  It  was  her  secret  conviction  that 
she  had  won  the  greatest  matrimonial  prize  in  the 
world  —  not  the  mightiest  intellect  certainly  —  but 
the  truest  and  manliest,  the  most  tender  and  lov- 
able of  men. 

As  for  his  wife,  no  words  could  express  Donald 
Draycott's  estimate  of  her.  She  had  what  her  friends 
called  a  singular  loveliness  of  character.  Her  hus- 
band believed  all  that  was  best  in  himself  was  owing 
to  her  influence  and  companionship.  Whenever  he 
hinted  this,  she  repelled  it  as  a  great  injustice  to 
himself.  But  he  stoutly  maintained  his  point,  assert- 
ing that  the  old  Draycott  breed  had  its  vices,  and 
that  another  could  not  know,  as  their  descendants 


6  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

did,  the  weaknesses  and  quicksands  of  his  own 
nature. 

Grace  Draycott  had  a  great  charm  of  personality. 
She  was  a  blonde,  not  above  medium  height,  with 
strong,  delicate  features,  and  eyes  large,  and  of  a  sea- 
gray  tint  and  depth.  But  the  best  thing  still  re- 
mains to  be  said  of  her  face.  Into  its  smile  and 
expression,  even  in  repose,  a  beautiful  soul  had  crept. 

The  daughter  resembled  her  mother  in  various 
ways  —  so  subtle,  however,  that  they  did  not  strike 
one  at  first  sight,  for  the  Draycott  type  was  pro- 
nounced in  Dorothy. 

The  house,  seated  on  a  terraced  elevation,  com- 
manded a  wide,  picturesque  scene,  made  up  of  wood- 
lands and  glints  of  river  and  neighboring  towns  and 
villages,  framed  by  the  far  hills  on  the  horizon. 
Nearer  at  hand  the  windows  looked  down  on  the 
broad  storied  highway,  and  on  the  roofs  of  Arlington, 
nestled  cosily  in  the  lap  of  its  hills. 

It  was  a  wide,  double  house,  this  home  of  Doro- 
thy's, built  half  a  century  before,  solid,  square, 
spacious,  arid  much  in  the  pattern  of  the  late  colonial 
period.  It  was  bisected  by  a  wide  hall,  with  sunny 
ample  rooms  on  either  side.  A  broad  slope  of  front 
lawn  was  broken  up  with  masses  of  shrubbery  and 
flower-beds,  which  held  gay  bloom  from  early  May  to 
November  frosts.  At  the  back  was  an  immense 
garden,  full  of  ancient  fruit-trees,  and  flowering 
thickets,  and  rows  of  bushes,  with  summer-houses  and 


THE    FAMILY   THEE;    THE   SAPLING   BOUGHS         7 

rustic  seats,  and  all  sorts  of  attractive  little  nooks 
and  alleys. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  delightful.  Its 
tasteful  furnishings,  its  books,  pictures,  bric-a-brac, 
scattered  everywhere,  gave  character  and  refinement 
to  the  rooms,  while  a  subtle,  restful  home  atmosphere 
pervaded  the  whole. 

The  English  Draycott  had  named  his  American 
estate  Red  Knolls.  The  family  tradition,  well 
authenticated,  ran  that  he  had  gone  over  the  land 
the  first  time  in  the  early  June,  when  some  knolls  in 
the  upper  pastures  were  smothered  in  a  mass  of 
wild-brier-rose  bloom.  The  great  red  glow  caught 
his  eyes  on  the  instant.  Before  he  purchased  the 
land  he  had  decided  on  its  name.  The  wide  pastures 
had  been  turned  into  waving  grain-fields;  but  the 
knolls  still  remained,  and  from  their  summits,  one, 
looking  eastward,  had  in  clear  atmospheres  glimpses 
of  gray-blue  sea.  Of  all  that  glory  of  red  bloom 
only  a  few  straggling  briers  now  remained;  but  they 
held  up  in  the  face  of  each  June  a  handful  of  wild- 
roses,  bright  and  fragrant  as  any  in  those  Junes  of 
two  centuries  ago. 

At  the  time  when  this  story  opens,  Dorothy  had 
been  mistress  of  Red  Knolls  for  several  months, 
while  her  brother  called  himself,  with  an  air  and 
look  of  meek  endurance  which  of  course  deceived 
nobody,  its  "long-suffering  and  sorely  henpecked 
master." 


8  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Draycott  were  spending  the  winter 
in  Southern  California.  She  had  taken  a  severe 
cold  in  the  autumn ;  amIT  when  her  cough  grew  wear- 
ing and  obstinate,  the  doctor  had  insisted  upon  a 
prompt  change  of  climate. 

Mr.  Draycott  had  at 'this  time  business  relations 
on  the  Pacific  coast  which  made  his  presence  there 
desirable.  The  two  left  soon  after  the  holidays. 

Their  absence  really  involved  a  domestic  revolu- 
tion. The  mother  had  consented  to  it  after  many 
misgivings  and  at  her  husband's  persistent  entreaties. 

The  pivotal  question  was  how  to  dispose  of  the 
young  people  at  this  juncture.  Their  elders  were 
most  reluctant  to  break  the  continuity  of  the  de- 
lightful home-life  at  Red  Knolls.  Tom  was  within 
half  an  hour  by  electrics  of  his  Alma  Mater, 
and  Dorothy  could,  of  course,  keep  on  with  her 
studies. 

It  was  decided  that  Red  Knolls  must,  at  all  haz- 
ards, be  kept  open,  and  the  young  people  put  on 
their  mettle. 

A  widow  from  the  Vermont  Hills,  whose  orchard 
and  dairy  had  long  furnished  Red  Knolls  with  their 
choicest  products,  was  induced  to  leave  her  home 
for  the  winter,  and  undertake  the  domestic  super- 
vision of  the  household. 

She  was  a  treasure  in  herself,  this  small,  bright- 
eyed,  soft-stepping  Vermont  woman,  with  a  heart  as 
tender  as  ever  beat  in  a  human  bosom,  and  a  practi- 


THE   FAMILY   TREE;    THE    SAPLING    BOUGHS         9 

cal  faculty,  a  keen  observation,  and  a  quaint  humor, 
which  showed  a  marked  individuality. 

Deep  in  her  fifties,  regarding-  herself  a  part  of  her 
pleasant  home  among  the  hills,  the  removal  to  Red 
Knolls  for  the  winter  was  an  immense  change  in  her 
life.  Nothing  but  her  regard  for  the  young  people 
could  have  induced  her  to  make  it.  They  had 
walked  into  Mrs.  Dayle's  heart  during  the  many 
happy,  rollicking  weeks  which  they  had  passed  in 
their  childhood,  in  the  homely,  delightful  old  farm- 
stead. A  man  and  a  maid,  each  long-tried  and 
trustworthy,  completed  the  winter  household  at  Red 
Knolls. 

One  evening  —  to  go  a  long  way  back  ;  for  it  must 
have  been  less  than  a  year  after  Dorothy  sat  on  her 
grandfather's  knee,  and  heard  the  story  of  the  Revo- 
lution —  Mrs.  Draycott,  entering  the  child's  room 
before  her  early  bedtime,  suddenly  paused.  Doro- 
thy had  not  caught  the  soft  footfalls.  She  AVOS 
standing  by  the  window,  the  little  brown  restless 
head  thrown  into  sharp  relief  against  the  lace  cur- 
tains, while  she  murmured  to  herself  in  her  clear, 
childish  soprano,  — 

"  Good-night,  little  girl,  away  up  in  the  star ! 
It's  bigger  than  our  earth,  Tom  says,  for  all  it 
looks  like  such  a  mite  shining  up  there.  Little 
girl,  away  off  so  high  and  so  far,  I  hope  your 
world  is  as  nice  and  as  dear  as  mine  down  here. 
I  just  think  and  wonder  about  you  every  day.  I 


10  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

hope  you  have  a  father  and  mother  as  good  as 
mine,  and  a  big  brother  you  love  dearly,  though 
lie's  got  such  a  temper,  and  makes  you  awful  mad 
at  times!  I  suppose  boys  who  live  in  stars  have 
tempers;  but  if  they  don't,  and  your  brother  is  best, 
I  wouldn't  want  to  change,  you  know. 

"  It  makes  the  way  not  seem  so  long  between 
us  when  I  think  the  same  God  made  you  and  me, 
and  takes  care  of  us  both. 

"O  little  girl,  you  can't  hear  what  I  say;  but 
for  all  that  I  mean  to  come  each  night,  when  the 
clouds  are  gone,  and  send  you,  away  up  in  the 
sky,  my  kiss  and  good-night !  " 

That  evening  Mrs.  Draycott  related  what  she  had 
overheard  to  her  husband. 

"  Of  course  I  was  inexpressibly  touched  and 
charmed,"  she  said.  "  But,  O  Donald,  such  an  imagi- 
nation is  a  perilous  gift !  "  and  there  were  tears  in 
the  young  mother's  beautiful  eyes. 

"  That  depends,  Grace,"  said  the  husband  in  his 
manly,  reassuring  voice.  "  I  trust  there  is  some  grit 
in  that  little  makeup,  that  will  show  itself  when  the 
test  comes,  and  save  imagination  from  running  away 
with  her." 


SEVENTEEN  AND  NINETEEN          11 


II 

SEVENTEEN   AND    NINETEEN 

"  GIRLS  and  Greek  go  to  the  dogs  !  " 

With  this  ejaculation,  rendered  more  emphatic  by 
the  silence  into  which  it  exploded,  Tom  Draycott 
sent  his  Sophocles  spinning  across  the  room. 

Dorothy  looked  up  startled  from  the  drawing  on 
which  she  had  been  at  work  for  the  last  half-hour, 
only  pausing  occasionally  to  study  intently  her 
brother's  profile  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 
Then  she  would  resume  her  work  with  a  little  mis- 
chievous smile  hovering  about  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  Nothing  had  broken  the  stillness  but  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  the  hum- 
ming of  the  wood-fire  on  the  hearth. 

Tom  had  been  buried  in  his  Sophocles  as  Dorothy 
had  in  her  lessons.  She  was  intending  to  enter 
Smith  College  next  fall,  and  went  into  Boston  every 
other  day  for  two  hours'  recitations.  On  this  occa- 
sion, however,  Tom's  profile  had  proved  so  tempting 
a  study  that  she  had  at  last  pushed  aside  her  books, 
and  stealthily,  and  with  a  merry  glint  in  her  eyes, 
set  herself  to  drawing  it. 

It  was  a  March  evening:.     The  wind  was  wander- 


12  "sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

ing  like  some  restless,  bewildered  creature  outside, 
its  low  mutters  sometimes  rising  into  an  angry 
menace. 

The  library  where  the  two  were  sitting  was  a 
large  room,  oak-panelled,  lined  on  one  side  with 
low  bookcases.  The  prevailing  tone  of  the  room  was 
gray,  with  reliefs  of  brighter  color  in  table-scarfs, 
cushions,  and  lounge-covers.  In  the  corners  were 
two  or  three  choice  bronze  groups,  and  a  number  of 
line  paintings  and  landscapes  on  the  walls  ;  but  any 
inventory  of  furnishings  in  this  apartment,  as  in  that 
of  every  other  of  the  solid,  ample,  half-century  man- 
sion, must  miss  the  home  atmosphere  which  was  its 
real  attraction. 

"  What  is  the  racket  now?"  Dorothy  asked,  and 
the  next  moment  she  was  ashamed  of  herself.  She 
meant  to  keep  her  talk  intact  from  Tom's  Sophomore 
slang,  but  she  was  always  slipping  into  it. 

Tom  Draycott  sprang  with  an  impatient  growl  to 
his  feet,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 

"  Racket,  indeed  !  "  he  retorted.  "  Here  I  am 
drudging  away  at  that  confounded  Greek,  when  I 
ought  to  be  at  the  play  to-night.  It  is  a  capital  thing, 
Walters  says.  He  wanted  me  to  dine  with  him  at 
Parker's,  and  then  go  to  the  show.  It  was  rough  on 
a  fellow  to  give  it  up." 

"But  will  you  tell  me  what  girls  had  to  do  with 
the  matter?  I  suppose,  though,  you  mixed  them  up 
witli  it  from  mere  force  of  habit." 


SEVENTEEN   AND   NINETEEN  13 

"  One  girl  had  something  to  do  with  it —  with 
a  vengeance !  If  she  hadn't  tried  the  injured-inno- 
cence dodge  and  talked  of  her  two  evenings  alone 
the  last  week,  and  all  that  nuisance,  I  should  have 
cut  Greek,  run  my  chances  at  recitation,  and  gone 
to  the  play." 

In  spite  of  his  ungracious  way  of  putting  it,  Doro- 
thy perceived  that  her  brother  had  made  a  sacrifice, 
more  or  less,  for  her  sake  ;  and  with  a  sudden  grateful 
impulse  she  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Tom,  dear  old  fellow,  you  may  growl,  but  you 
have  been  awfully  good.  I  will  tell  mamma  when  I 
write." 

Tom  Draycott  adored  his  mother,  believed  her  the 
most  splendid  woman  in  the  world,  but  his  young 
man's  conceit  was  rather  nettled  at  her  introduction 
at  this  moment. 

"  So  that  is  the  way  my  goodness  is  to  be  in  evi- 
dence !  Tell  his  mamma  how  he  stayed  at  home 
with  his  sister,  and  was  a  good  boy ;  a  model,  in 
short,  for  brothers,  so  long  as  time  shall  last.  What 
taffy,  Dorothy  ! " 

"  Well,  then,"  arching  her  eyebrows  significantly, 
"  if  you  are  to  be  the  model  for  all  future  brothers, 
good  angels  protect  the  sisters  !  " 

Tom  laughed  good-naturedly  this  time.  He  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire  now,  a  stalwart- 
built,  broad-chested  fellow  of  a  decided  blond  type, 
with  no  resemblance,  on  the  surface,  to  his  sister ; 


14  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

although  the  family  likeness  occasionally  came  out  in 
flashes  and  glimpses. 

Tom's  glance  happened  to  fall  on  the  drawing 
which  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  there  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  kind  of  languid  curiosity,  as  he  drew  nearer  to 
the  table. 

"  You  mustn't  look  !  It  isn't  finished.  For  shame, 
Tom  !  You  have  no  right  to  it." 

Dorothy's  remonstrant  staccato  burst  out  as  her 
brother  picked  up  the  sheet  and  coolly  proceeded  to 
examine  it.  He  recognized  the  drawing  at  a  glance. 
Dorothy  had  a  dainty  touch  combined  with  a  power 
of  bold,  vigorous  lines.  Here  was  a  likeness,  unde- 
niable, slightly  caricatured,  of  himself.  The  nose  — 
not  an  insignificant  feature  in  Tom  Draycott's  facial 
structure  —  was  unduly  prominent,  and  so  were 
some  locks  of  hair  which  stood  up,  bristly  and  pugna- 
cious, on  his  forehead. 

Tom  whistled,  half  amused,  half  provoked,  for  a 
minute,  perhaps,  as  he  inspected  this  drawing,  which 
was  not  complimentary  to  himself  ;  then  he,  with  cool 
deliberation,  tore  the  paper  into  several  slips  and 
tossed  them  into  the  flames. 

"  Tom,  how  dared  you  do  that  ?  It  is  shameful ; 
it  was  not  yours,"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  high 
dudgeon. 

"  And  how  dared  you  take  such  an  unwarrantable 
liberty  with  my  countenance,  and  caricature  it  at 


SEVENTEEN  AND  NINETEEN         15 

that  ?  How  would  you  like  it  if  I  tried  the  same 
game  with  you  ?  Here  goes  !  " 

He  made  a  dash  for  the  pencils  ;  but  Dorothy  was 
too  quick  for  him,  swept  them  up,  and  held  them 
close,  box  and  all. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  Tom  triumphantly.  "  Noth- 
ing convinces,  in  a  case  of  this  sort,  like  turning  the 
tables  handsomely  on  another." 

"  But  you  are  a  fellow,"  said  Dorothy  with  a 
marked  change  of  tone,  "  and  of  course  wouldn't 
mind.  A  girl  might." 

"  You  are  immensely  positive  about  what  a  fellow 
would  mind  !  "  . 

Dorothy  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Each  of 
these  young  people  was  wise  enough  to  know  when 
the  other  had  the  best  of  the  argument ;  but  many  a 
discussion,  begun  in  pure  love  of  mischief,  ended  in 
something  quite  the  opposite. 

Dorothy  gazed  at  her  brother  with  silent  intentness 
for  a  minute  or  two.  He  knew  her  well  enough  to 
be  certain  there  was  a  thought  behind  the  gaze,  and 
that  he  would  hear  it  before  long.  He  turned  mean- 
while, and  stirred  the  red  coals  with  the  poker  until 
the  sparks  swarmed  up  the  chimney  like  a  flock  of 
scarlet  bees.  The  thought  burst  out  in  the  form  of  a 
question,  spoken  with  grave  earnestness. 

"Tom,  do  you  really  think  you  are  handsome?  " 

"  I  never  gave  that  important  subject  much  reflec- 
tion." He  had  on  now  what  his  sister  called  his 


16  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"owlish  expression,"  and  he  struck  the  forelog  with 
a  force  which  sent  a  fresh  scarlet  flock  swarming  up 
the  wide  chimney. 

"  Because  you  are  not  —  really  !  " 

The  tone  was  so  serious,  with  just  a  hint  of 
apology,  that  Tom  could  not  take  umbrage  at  this 
frankness.  He  rose,  however,  turned  and  faced  his 
sister,  and  again  the  bright,  penetrating,  critical 
gaze  went  over  the  strong,  stalwart  figure,  taking 
it  in  from  head  to  foot,  with  all  the  details,  —  the 
color  of  the  hair  and  eyes,  the  moulding  of  the  face, 
the  yellowish  down  cropping  out  on  the  chin. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  have  just^  arrived  at  that  con- 
viction? "  he  interrogated  with  the  utmost  gravity. 

"  Oh,  no.     I  reached  it  more  than  a  year  ago." 

"  Indeed  !  This  begins  to  be  interesting,  at  least 
to  the  party  most  deeply  concerned.  Under  what 
circumstances  did  you  form  a  conclusion  so  flattering 
to  myself  ?  " 

"  It  was  more  than  a  year  ago.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber that  time  when  we  came  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  drove  over  from  Woodstock  to  the  Profile  ? 
It  was  in  September.  We  had  seats  on  the  top  of 
the  stage." 

"  I  remember  —  perfectly." 

"Of  course  everybody  was  wild  to  go  outside. 
There  were  several  Harvard  fellows  amongst  the 
crowd,  and  we  all  had  the  jolliest  time.  I  think 
it  must  have  been  the  others  set  me  to  thinking 
about  you  —  contrasting  you  with  them." 


SEVENTEEN  AND  NINETEEN          17 

"  Not  to  my  advantage  evidently." 

"  I  said,  '  I  am  goin  g  now  to  look  at  Tom  critical!}', 
just  as  though  he  were  not  my  own  brother,  and  I 
saw  him  for  the  first  time.  There  he  sits  before  me, 
—  Tom  Draycott, — a  big,  strong-limbed,  straight- 
shouldered  fellow,  a  little  overgrown,' — that  was  more 
than  a  year  ago,  you  remember.  'Not  a  model  of 
grace,  perhaps,  but  with  a  figure  tall,  robust,  well- 
formed,  that  any  youth  might  be  proud  of. 

" '  He  has  a  large  head,  well-shaped,  well  set  on 
his  shoulders ;  but  when  you  come  to  his  thick  hair 
it  is  inclined  to  be  coarse  and  bristly,  and  of  a  light 
squash-yellow.  His  e}*ebrows  and  short  thick  lashes 
are  about  the  same  tint ;  and  his  eyes,  though  they 
are  bright  and  clear  and  full  of  fun  at  times,  are  of 
a  light,  uncertain  sort  of  gray.  Indeed,  there  is 
altogether  too  much  neutral'tint  about  him.  When 
it  comes  to  his  features,  not  one  of  them  follows  the 
curve  of  beauty.  They  are  large,  his  nose  espe- 
cially ;  and  it  isn't  straight,  either,  and  the  whole 
is  cut  on  a  rather  rugged  plan.  His  mouth  is  too 
large,  though  I  am  forced  to  admit  when  he  smiles 
one  does  not  think  of  that.  If  his  skin  isn't  fine  its 
wholesome,  ruddy  hue  more  than  atones  for  that. 
His  ears  stand  out  too  far,  and  are  apt  to  be  reddish, 
and  no  drawing-master  would  ever  take  them  for  a 
model.  In  short,  that  is  a  fair  if  not  flattering  pic- 
ture of  your  brother,  Dorothy  Draycott,  as  he  sits 
there  before  you  at  this  blessed  moment ! ' 


18  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

The  young  man,  quiet  as  a  mouse  through  all 
this  speech,  broke  now  into  a  roar  of  laughter;  lie 
shook ;  he  shouted ;  he  doubled  himself  up,  and  then 
stretched  himself  on  the  lounge  and  roared  again. 
It  was  mirth,  pure,  simple,  infectious.  In  a  few 
moments  Dorothy,  who  had  been  very  serious 
through  the  talk,  joined  in,  and  her  girlish  laugh 
formed  a  silvery,  rippling  accompaniment  to  her 
brother's  bass. 

At  last  Tom  grew  quiet,  and  spoke,  — 

"And  there  you  sat  all  the  time  in  the  midst  of 
that  wonderful  scenery  which  Starr  King  declares 
the  finest  between  the  Atlantic  coast  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  while  you  contrasted  the  Draycott  biped, 
masculine,  with  the  feminine  variety.  Oh  the  enor- 
mous vanity  of  girls  !  " 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  Tom.  I  have  half  a 
mind  not  to  tell  you,  after  that  speech,  what  further 
conclusion  I  did  form  regarding  you." 

"  Oh,  let's  have  the  worst  now !  My  amour 
propre  can  stand  anything  after  this  onslaught. 
I  take  back  all  I  said,  Dollikins." 

"  I  said  to  myself,  '  Tlw^e  other  fellows  may  be 
handsomer,  but  Tom  is  conspicuously,  intrinsically 
the  gentleman  among  them.  Anybody  with  a  fine 
sense  must  perceive  that.  It  is  in  the  lines  of  his 
face,  the  carriage  of  his  head,  in,  as  papa  would 
say,  "  the  molecules  of  his  organism." ' 

Tom  rose  from  the  lounge  and  made  his  best  bow. 


SEVENTEEN  AND  NINETEEN         19 

"  I  needed  some  emollient  after  all  those  dreadful 
wounds  to  my  vanity,"  he  said  dryly.  But  Dorothy 
knew  the  words  covered  some  real  satisfaction,  and 
that  her  last  speech  had  atoned  for  all  which  had 
preceded  it. 

Then  the  bronze  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  the 
half-hour.  It  was  the  time  when  Dorothy  usually 
went  to  her  room ;  her  mother  having  exacted  a 
promise  that  she  would  keep  early  hours. 

At  this  instant  Mrs.  Dayles  put  her  face  inside  the 
door  to  see  that  everything  went  well  with  her  young 
charges.  Even  to  a  stranger,  the  kind  motherly  face 
under  the  gray  hair,  the  small,  neat,  matronly  figure, 
would  have  been  attractive. 

Hidalgo,  who  had  been  asleep  on  the  rug,  woke  up 
now,  stretched  his  huge  length,  and  laid  his  big  head 
affectionately  on  his  young  master's  knee.  He  was 
an  English  mastiff,  a  splendid  creature,  and  of  enor- 
mous size. 

He  had  been  shipped  from  Spain  when  a  young 
dog  to  Mr.  Draycott,  by  a  friend  who  was  about  to 
make  a  trip  around  the  world.  The  dog  at  once  be- 
came an  immense  favoritQ  in  the  family ;  he  had  the 
intelligence,  the  deep  loyalty,  and  all  the  fine  char- 
acteristics of  the  best  of  his  breed.  "  What  a  superb 
creature  he  is,"  remarked  Donald  Draycott  to  his 
wife  one  day,  soon  after  the  dog's  arrival,  when  there 
had  been  some  discussion  about  naming  him. 

"  It  seems,"  she   answered,   "  as   though   he   had 


20  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

lived  long  enough  among  those  stately  old  Spanish 
hidalgoes  to  carry  their  air  of  solemn  dignity  through 
all  his  days." 

Donald  Draycott  brought  down  his  hand  on  his 
wife's  knee.  "  Grace,"  he  said,  "  you  have  hit  the 
mark !  That  name  suits  the  patrician  creature  ex- 
actly. Come  here,  sir  !  " 

The  dog  came,  gazing  at  the  man  with  his  intent, 
solemn  eyes.  "  You  are  from  this  moment  to  have 
one  name  —  to  know  and  to  answer  to  that  only  so 
long  as  you  live  —  Hidalgo  !  " 

Tom  and  Dorothy  clapped  their  hands,  and  the  dog 
soon  answered  to  his  name. 

Tom  Draycott  heard  the  March  wind  booming  out- 
side. The  sound  stirred  his  young  pulses  like  a 
trumpet.  He  was  always  eager  for  a  tramp,  either 
with  or  without  companions. 

"  Come,  Hidalgo,  you  and  I  will  have  a  bout  with 
the  winds  !  "  he  said. 

And  nodding  good-night  to  the  young  girl  and  the 
elder  woman,  who  were  absorbed  in  some  domestic 
discussion,  Tom  Draycott  went  out  with  his  dog  into 
the  wild  March  night. 


A   KOAD,  A   RIDE,  AND   SOME   RHYMES  21 


III 

A  ROAD,   A  RIDE,   AND   SOME  RHYMES 

YOUNG  Draycott  had  stumbled  one  day,  by  the 
purest  accident,  on  what  his  sister  regarded  as  the 
most  precious  secret  of  her  life.  Even  her  mother 
had  no  inkling  of  it.  Tom  had  gone  to  Dorothy's 
room  to  relate  some  amusing  affair  at  lectures  that 
morning.  There  was  no  answer  to  his  knock ;  but 
Tom  was  sure  of  her  return  in  a  short  time,  and 
neither  would  have  felt  any  scruples  in  entering  the 
other's  room,  and  awaiting  its  occupant. 

He  threw  himself  down  in  a  big  bamboo  easy-chair, 
his  favorite  lounging  place  in  his  frequent  visits  to 
his  sister's  room.  Her  davenport — a  dainty  affair 
in  oak,  with  antique  carving  —  stood  near  at  hand. 
Tom's  attention  was  caught  by  something  on  the 
upper  shelf  of  the  davenport,  which  resembled  an 
oblong  volume  in  a  pinkish-gray  silk  binding,  with 
the  prettiest  light  green  vine,  brightened  by  clusters 
of  berries,  running  around  the  edges.  He  at  once 
perceived  Dorothy's  light,  firm  touch  in  the  painting. 

Tom  Draycott  had  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman. 
He  would  never  have  used  anything  of  his  sister's 
which  she  intended  for  no  eyes  but  her  own,  although 


22  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

he  would  have  been  quite  ready,  in  one  of  his  teas- 
ing moods,  to  make  a  pretence  of  doing  it.  But  this 
thing,  lying  there  in  full  view  in  its  pretty  case, 
roused  his  idle  curiosity.  It  never  crossed  his  mind 
that  Dorothy  could  have  the  faintest  objection  to  his 
examining  it.  He  reached  forward,  took  it  up,  found 
it  thick,  rather  heavy,  and  with  a  glance  inside,  rec- 
ognized his  sister's  clear  young  girl's  hand  in  the 
closely  written  manuscript. 

Before  he  had  read  a  syllable  she  came  into  the 
room,  with  her  light,  rapid  step,  her  velvet  cape  loos- 
ened from  her  shoulders,  her  little  toque,  with  its 
old-gold  and  crimson  trimmings,  atilt  on  her  young 
head. 

She  glanced  at  Tom ;  the  next  instant  she  saw 
what  was  in  his  hand.  She  darted  forward  with  a 
cry  of  anger  and  dismay  to  seize  the  book.  But  in 
her  wild  haste  she  missed  her  aim.  Tom  sprang  from 
his  chair,  and  swung  the  book  triumphantly  over  his 
head. 

"  Oh,  how  dared  you  do  that  ?  It  is  my  own. 
Give  it  to  me  this  moment,"  burst  out  Dorothy,  her 
voice  quivering  with  excitement,  her  face  aflame 
with  distress  and  anger. 

"  Not  until  you  have  told  me  what  this  is,"  replied 
Tom  coolly,  his  curiosity  thoroughly  aroused  now ; 
and  then,  he  was  barely  nineteen  —  it  was  hard  to 
miss  a  chance  of  teasing  his  sister. 

Dorothy  drew  her  slender  figure  to  its  full  height. 


A   ROAD,  A    RIDE,  AND   SOME    RHYMES  23 

The  lightnings  of  her  great  brown  eyes  blazed  into 
Tom's. 

"  You  are  the  meanest,  most  prying,  most  impudent 
creature  I  ever  conceived  of !  I  demand  that  you 
give  my  property  back  to  me." 

Tom,  getting  angry  himself,  managed  to  hold  his 
temper  in  leash. 

"  Adjectives  of  that  sort,  accompanied  by  that  tone, 
are  not  apt  to  have  the  desired  effect,"  he  said  in  a 
dry,  aggravating  voice,  keeping  the  book  at  a  safe 
distance. 

Dorothy  looked  at  it  with  hungry  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  she  broke  out,  "I  would  not  have  be- 
lieved you  could  do  so  contemptible  a  thing,  Tom 
Draycott." 

She  quivered  all  over ;  but  there  was  some  pain  in 
her  voice,  which  struck  Tom  now,  and  put  him  on  Ids 
defence. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  hap- 
pened to  find  this  thing  —  whatever  it  is  —  lying  on 
your  davenport,  and,  naturally  enough,  took  it  up, 
when  you  must  bounce  in  and  raise  such  a  tempest 
over  it." 

But  Dorothy  was  not  to  be  reasoned  with,  so  long 
as  he  held  her  treasure  above  his  head  in  that  defiant 
way.  If  she  could  only  have  thrown  her  young  girl's 
strength  against  his,  and  in  one  passionate  wrestle 
have  torn  the  thing  from  his  hands  !  But  that 
was  hopeless.  "  It  is  mine.  Give  it  to  me ! "  she 


24  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

repeated  insistently.  The  hungry  look  in  her  eyes 
made  Tom  relent  a  little. 

"If  you  will  tell  me  what  this  mysterious  affair  is, 
I  will  give  it  up." 

"What — what  do  you  Tcnoiv  about  it?"  asked 
Dorothy,  not  replying  to  his  question,  but  with  a 
fresh  blaze  in  her  eyes. 

"  Know !  I  know  absolutely  nothing,  except  the 
confounded  fuss  that  you  have  been  making  over  it. 
I  tell  you  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea  what  is  inside 
of  this.  It  may  be  Sanscrit." 

Dorothy  shot  one  eager,  doubtful  glance  into  his 
face.  In  the  sudden  relief  and  reaction  she  sank  into 
a  chair  and  burst  into  sobs. 

Tom  saw  the  matter  was  more  serious  than  he  had 
imagined.  He  drew  near  his  sister  and  exclaimed  in 
a  half  remonstrant,  half  annoyed  tone,  — 

"  What  a  silly,  unreasoning,  explosive  creature 
you  are,  Dorothy !  Tell  me  what  it  is  all  about,  and 
I  will  give  it  back  to  you  and  welcome !  " 

"  It  is  my  book  —  my  very  own,"  she  sobbed. 

This  obstinate  persistence  disgusted  him  for  a  mo- 
ment; the  next,  it  all  cleared  up  in  a  flash.  The 
thing  he  held  in  his  hand  was  Dorothy's  in  some  in- 
timate, sacred  way  which  nothing  else  could  possibly 
be.  This  was  the  explanation  of  all  her  passionate 
insistence. 

"Dorothy,"  said  Tom,  in  a  changed  tone,  "you 
have  been  writing  a  book  !  " 


A   ROAD,  A   RIDE,  AND   SOME   RHYMES  25 

She  gave  a  little  cry  that  was  almost  terror.  Then 
she  turned  on  him. 

"  And  you  told  me  you  had  not  read  a  line !  O 
Tom  Draycott!" 

This  time  he  had  the  advantage.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose, Dorothy,  I  would  speak  more  than  the  abso- 
lute truth?"  his  voice  rang  out  resentfully.  "I 
could  not  tell  the  first  syllable  inside  this  cover  if  it 
were  to  save  my  life." 

He  laid  the  book  in  her  lap. 

Dorothy  seized  and  hugged  it  fast. 

Tom's  feeling  toward  his  sister  had  undergone  a 
swift  transition  from  the  instant  he  had  solved  her 
mystery.  He  had  more  sympathy  with  her  feelings, 
too,  than  she  could  have  imagined.  In  his  own  room, 
locked  in  an  inner  bureau-drawer,  was  a  small  port- 
folio containing  certain  sonnets,  lyrics,  and  verses, 
which  no  human  eye  had  ever  seen.  These  were  the 
efflorescence  of  Tom  Draycott's  youthful  muse.  The 
thought  of  any  of  his  classmates  getting  hold  of  them 
would  have  made  him  wince  in  every  nerve. 

But  for  all  that  he  could  not  resist  such  an  oppor- 
tunity of  having  his  jest. 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  stood  in  such  a  presence,"  he 
began  with  mock  seriousness.  "  Long  and  green 
may  your  laurels  wave,  Miss  Dorothy  Draycott, 
authoress  !  " 

"  There,  I  knew  you  would  make  fun  of  me  !  " 
she  cried,  her  cheeks  naming. 


26  "  SIRS,   ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"I  promise,  honor  bright,  never  to  do  so  again  if 
you  will  tell  me  the  title." 

"O  Tom,  don't  ask  me,  please." 

"  Well,  then,  be  good  after  all  this  big  tantrum, 
and  read  me  the  first  page." 

The  young  head  went  back  and  forth  in  speechless, 
but  very  pronounced,  negation. 

The  utmost  concession  Tom  could  extract  from 
his  reluctant  sister  was  that  she  had  been  more  than 
a  year  writing  her  book,  and  that  not  a  soul  knew  of 
its  existence. 

Tom,  of  course,  kept  his  sister's  secret  inviolable ; 
but  it  was  not  in  young  masculine  human  nature  not 
to  have  its  fun  out  of  the  matter.  He  seized  occa- 
sions for  gravely  inquiring  whether  the  book  was  of 
the  ideal  or  realistic  school ;  whether  it  was  a  study 
of  to-day,  or  of  some  remote  period  of  human  history  ; 
he  was  curious  to  know,  too,  whether  the  story  were 
a  novel  and  a  local  study,  and  who  were  the  dramatis 
personce,  and  if  these  included  any  people  whom  they 
knew. 

But  Dorothy  was  on  her  guard  now,  and  quite 
equal  to  keeping  her  own  counsel,  as  well  as  answer- 
ing all  her  brother's  ironical  compliments  to  woman 
authors. 

One  day  when  Dorothy  had  a  cold,  and  could  not 
go  to  her  lessons,  Tom,  returning  from  Cambridge, 
brought  to  his  sister's  room  a  mass  of  trailing  arbutus, 
every  spray  in  loveliest  flowering. 


A    ROAD,  A   HIDE,  AND   SOME   RHYMES  27 

The  sight  of  the  little  white  and  pink  blossoms  — 
those  earliest  of  all  the  flowery  train  of  the  summer 
—  gave  Dorothy  immense  delight.  With  a  joyous 
cry  she  buried  her  face  amongst  the  small  posies 
and  drank  in  their  fragrance.  A  little  later  she  was 
arranging  them  in  a  great  Japanese  bowl. 

"  O  Tom,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  the  dearest 
fellow  in  the  world  to  bring  me  these !  Ask  me  any- 
thing and  I  will  do  it  for  you." 

"  Anything,  and  stick  to  it,  Dollikins  ?  "  queried 
Tom,  using  the  pet  household  name  of  her  child- 
hood; but  there  was  a  glint  in  his  eyes  which  put 
Dorothy  on  her  guard. 

"  Of  course  I  shall,  Tom,  —  to  anything  you  have 
a  right  to  ask." 

She  came  over  now,  and  placed  the  bowl  with  its 
mass  of  trailing  green  and  bloom  opposite  to  him  on 
the  table.  How  pretty  she  looked  in  her  house-jacket 
of  rose-pink !  Even  Tom's  accustomed  eyes  took 
notice  of  that. 

"And  who  is  to  decide  about  the  right  of  the 
question  ?  "  he  pursued,  lifting  his  eyebrows. 

"  I  must,  in  the  last  resort.  That  is  only  fair,  you 
know." 

Tom  saw  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  discussing 
the  matter. 

"  Well,  then,  here  goes  !  I  ask  you,  Dorothy  Dray- 
cott,  to  read  me  the  last  chapter  of  your  own  book." 

Dorothy's  face  fell.  "  O  Tom,  ask  me  anything" 
but  that ! " 


28  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  Well,  the  title,  then,  if  it  suit  you  better." 

Dorothy  was  certain  that  Tom  could  never  resist 
quizzing  her  mercilessly  if  she  placed  such  a  weapon 
in  his  hands ;  she  was  in  a  mood  to  gratify  him,  but 
the  book  —  the  first  child  of  her  imagination  —  was 
very  dear  to  its  creator.  The  thought  of  anybody 
criticising  —  making  sjport  of  it  —  brought  a  recoil  so 
sharp  that  it  was  almost  a  pain.  She  could  sooner 
bear  cruel  blows  on  her  tender  flesh. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  that !  "  she  said  in  a  rapid,  almost 
passionate  tone.  "  If  you  should  ever  write  a  book, 
Tom,"  catching  his  disgusted  look,  "  you  would 
understand  how  I  feel." 

"  How  we  seventeen-year-old  authors  do  plume 
ourselves  on  our  superiority  to  common  clay ! "  re- 
torted the  disgruntled  youth.  "  But  I  have  had  my 
lesson.  The  next  time  I  go  foraging  Cambridge- 
town  for  trailing  arbutus,  in  a  March  gale,  it  will  be 
for  somebody  a  little  more  appreciative." 

Tom  started  for  the  door.  But  his  shaft  had 
struck  home.  Dorothy  glanced  at  her  flowers,  and 
her  heart  and  will  relented  a  little. 

"  Tom,  don't  go  off  in  a  pet ! "  she  exclaimed 
appealingly,  as  the  door  swung  open. 

He  paused  on  the  threshold.  "  I  have  no  more 
time  to  waste  with  such  a  mulish  little  minx,"  he 
said.  • 

"  O  Tom,  is  that  being  a  gentleman  —  to  call  your 
sister  names  ?  " 


A    ROAD,  A    HIDE,  AND    SOME    RHYMES  29 

"  Of  course  not.  You  better  let  me  go  before  I 
commit  a  second  offence." 

"  But  I  will  forgive  you,  if  you  will  come  back, 
and  perhaps  tell  you  something  in  connection  with 
the  book,"  this  last  half  to  herself.  "  We  sha'n't  be 
happy  if  we  quarrel,  Tom." 

"  Probably  not.  But  you  are  so  aggravating, 
Dorothy,  and  I  am  not  a  saint." 

He  came  back,  however,  and  with  a  half-resigned, 
half-grotesque  gesture  resumed  his  seat. 

Dorothy  did  not  speak  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then 
she  began  in  a  slow,  embarrassed  fashion,  but  she 
soon  lost  all  that  in  the  interest  of  her  narrative. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  Tom,  how  the  last  of  my 
book  came  to  me.  I  shall  never  forget  that  day  if  I 
should  live  to  be  an  old  woman  — wrinkled  and  gray- 
haired,  you  know.  I  had  been  almost  a  year  writing 
the  thing.  Of  course,  it  had  to  be  done  when  I  could 
get  the  time  all  to  myself,  so  nobody  would  suspect. 
And  there  were  always  so  many  things  coming  up  to 
interfere  —  lessons,  company,  walks  and  drives,  girls 

—  oh,  you  can't  imagine  !  " 

"Yes,  I  can,"  said  Tom,  quite  mollified  now;  "and 
I  am  ready  to  admit  you  were  a  clever  little  puss  to 
carry  the  thing  through  without  anybody's  getting 
an  inkling  of  it." 

"  But  those  last  two  chapters  were  the  worst.  I 
came  to  a  dead  stop  ;  I  hadn't  the  dimmest  thought 

—  not  the  ghost  of  an  idea  —  how  the  story  was  to 


30  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

end.  I  wished,  many  a  time,  it  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  burn  it  up, 
and  so  have  done  \vith  it;  but  the  hour  never  quite 
came  for  doing  that. 

"  One  day  things  seemed  to  have  reached  a  climax. 
I  was  just  in  despair.  The  only  comfort  was  I  had 
the  afternoon  to  myself.  Papa  and  mamma  had  gone 
to  Brookline  to  a  wedding,  and  you  were  off  at  some 
big  class-game.  Everything  was  perfect  for  several 
hours,  and  I  sat  down  determined  to  write  or  —  die  ! 
I  couldn't  do  either.  I  wondered  if  grand  authors 
ever  went  down  in  such  collapses.  I  didn't  envy 
them  their  genius  or  their  fame,  if  they  had  to  pay 
such  a  price  for  it.  Then  the  worst  of  all  was,  the 
book  wouldn't  let  me  alone.  It  haunted  me  every- 
where. It  seemed  to  stand  right  before  me,  like 
some  live,  pleading  tiling,  saying,  'What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  me  ?  You  have  brought  me  so  far  ; 
you  must  take  me  to  the  end  ! '  Oh,  it  was  awful !  " 

Dorothy  paused  a  moment  and  shivered  a  little ; 
but,  once  started,  she  found  it  an  immense  relief  to 
confide  these  experiences  to  a  listener. 

"At  last  —  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,"  she 
resumed,  "  and  I  had  torn  up  almost  a  quire  of  paper, 
—  I  got  desperate,  locked  my  davenport,  made  a  vow 
to  myself  never  to  touch  the  book  again,  flashed  into 
my  riding-habit,  and  five  minutes  later  was  cantering 
off  on  Sphinx.  In  a  little  while  we  were  racing  over 
the  old  country  roads.  I  never  minded  where  we 


A   ROAD,  A    EIDE,  AND    SOME   RHYMES  31 

went;  I  wished  I  could  get  away  from  everybody, 
everything,  and  ride  on  forever.  In  a  little  while 
the  book  ceased  to  worry  me.  I  didn't  care  what 
became  of  it.  Then,  in  a  flash,  on  some  old  country 
road,  with  only  an  occasional  sleepy  farmhouse,  the 
whole  thing  came  up  to  me.  It  was  clear  and 
natural  as  daylight.  I  saw  the  characters,  the 
scenes,  the  grouping,  and  just  how  it  was  all  .to 
end.  The  wonder  was,  why  I  hadn't  thought  of  it 
before. 

"  Sphinx  had  her  own  way  for  the  most  part,  that 
afternoon,  and  chose  her  own  roads  and  went  like 
the  wind.  We  must  have  been  off  several  hours, 
when  I  woke  up  and  stared  around  me.  I  was  sure 
we  were  miles  from  home,  the  daylight  was  fading 
into  dusk,  and  there  were  clouds  —  heaps,  amber  and 
pink  —  I  see  them  now  in  the  western  sky. 

"  You  may  believe,  Tom  Draycott,  I  wheeled 
Sphinx  sharply  round,  and  started  for  home  on  a 
gallop.  I  remember  how  glad  I  was  that  papa  and 
mamma  would  not  return  until  late,  else  they  would 
have  a  scare  over  my  absence ;  but  though  I  had  lost 
my  way  and  was  out  alone  in  the  growing  dark, 
miles  from  Red  Knolls,  I  was  just  the  happiest  girl 
in  the  world  because  my  book  had  come  to  me.  Of 
course,  we  passed  farmhouses,  and  occasionally  some 
wagon  or  a  stranger  on  foot;  but  I  shrank  at  that 
hour  from  pulling  up  and  inquiring  the  way,  and  at 
last  we  turned  into  a  road  where  there  was  a  sign- 


82  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

board,  and  I  made  out  we  were  about  six  miles  from 
home. 

"  After  that,  we  tore  along  in  the  stillness  and  the 
moonshine  until  we  came  to  Belmont.  I  could  make 
a  short  cut  by  turning  into  the  road  which  leads  up 
to  Arlington  Heights.  I  can  see  that  long,  rugged 
stretch  between  the  old  pasture-slopes  as  we  galloped 
into  it,  —  the  full  moon  overhead,  the  shadows  black 
against  the  silver  lights,  —  the  wild-flowering  bushes 
on  the  roadside,  and  the  brown  old  highway  winding 
and  shouldering  itself  up  the  hill.  It  was  a  glorious 
sight,  and  as  solitary  as  though  I  were  miles  from  a 
human  being  or  a  habitation  ;  though  a  few  rods  off 
would  have  brought  Boston  into  full  view  with  "  — 

"  Pretty  place  for  a  girl  at  that  time  of  night ! " 
growled  Tom.  "  Suppose  a  tramp,  or  several  of 
them,  had  turned  up  on  that  lonely  road." 

"  But  they  didn't,  you  horrid  prosaic  creature ! 
Something  did  appear,  however  !  "  an  exultant  smile 
coming  into  her  eyes. 

"What  was  it?" 

"  A  great  secret.     One  nobody  ever  heard." 

"  Well,  let  me  be  the  first  fellow  to  have  it  then." 

She  gazed  at  him  doubtfully.  But  her  late  confi- 
dences made  others  easy. 

"  I  shall  trust  your  honor,  Tom." 

"  That  goes  without  saying." 

"  And  you  promise  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
to  make  fun  of  this  ?  " 


A   ROAD,  A    RIDE,  AND   SOME    RHYMES  33 

"I  promise  absolutely.  But  you  are  not  such  a 
goose  as  to  mind  my  chaffing?  " 

"  I  should  care  in  this  case." 

"  Well,  you  will  never  have  a  chance.  Now  about 
what  came  to  you  that  night.  Was  it  bogie,  dryad, 
ghost,  revisiting  the  faint  glimpses  of  the  moon  ?  " 

"O  Tom,  how  ridiculous  you  are!"  her  laugh 
rang  out  a  gay  negative.  "  It  was  "  — 

"  Well,  don't  keep  a  fellow  on  the  rack." 

"  It  was  only  a  few  couplets  which  sang  themselves 
into  my  thoughts  as  we  galloped  along  through  the 
lovely  stillness  —  the  glorious  moonlight.  I  don't 
mean  I  haven't  touched  up  some  of  the  lines  since, 
but  the  ideas  and  the  rhymes  came  to  me  then." 

"  I  see.  All  the  circumstances  tended  to  kindle 
the  latent  muse." 

"  Tom,  you  promised !  " 

"  I  am  not  making  fun  —  not  the  slightest.  I  am 
in  dead  earnest.  Come  —  Out  with  the  poem." 

"  It  is  such  a  very  little  one,"  said  Dorothy ;  and  a 
flush  crept  up  and  deepened  in  the  young  olive 
cheek. 

After  the  first  line  or  two,  her  voice  steadied 
itself :  — 

"  O  goldenrod,  how  your  tall  ranks  glowed 
Like  lanterns  alight  on  the  Belmont  road  ! 

"  O  daisies,  how  dainty  and  dim  and  white, 
Your  disks  gleamed  out  from  the  grass  that  night  ! 


34  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  While  —  lovely  ghost  of  the  vanished  day  — 
The  moon  was  climbing  the  skies'  stairway. 

"  On  pasture  slope  and  on  cedar  steep 
The  winds  from  the  sea  had  gone  to  sleep. 

"  Fine  scents  were  alive  in  the  summer  air, 
Cool  dews  were  asparkle  everywhere. 

"  While  I  rode  to  a  glad  refrain  which  run, 
'  Oh,  road  to  Belmont,  my  book  is  done ! ' ' 

There  was  a  little  silence  when  the  sweet,  vibrant 
voice  ceased.  Then  Tom  spoke. 

"Very  fair  for  a  first  try.  I  say,  Dollikins,  rest 
of  the  book  up  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  A  little  shadow  stole  over  the 
glowing  face.  "  I  did  my  utmost  at  the  time,  but  I 
begin  now  to  see  —  faults.  Perhaps  I  shall  write  it 
all  over  again  sometime." 

"  And  you  are  bound  to  give  a  fellow  no  chance  to 
draw  comparisons  between  your  poetry  and  your 
prose?"  interrogated  Tom  tentatively. 

At  that  instant  they  were  summoned  to  lunch. 


HOW    THE    HOUR   STRUCK  35 


IV 

HOW   THE   HOUR   STRUCK 

THE  next  morning  before  leaving  his  room,  Tom 
Draycott  thrust  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  trou- 
sers. These  had  been  hanging  in  his  closet  through 
the  extreme  cold  weather.  He  felt  a  bit  of  paper, 
which,  brought  to  light,  proved  to  be  a  bank-bill. 
Tom  spread  it  out,  whistling  over  some  college  tune. 

"  Just  two  dollars  luckier  in  my  exchequer  than  I 
supposed  !  I  suppose  now  the  sight  of  you  would 
elate  some  poor  devil  of  a  fellow,  if  he  sprung  on 
you  as  I  did !  " 

Then,  by  some  subtle  law  of  association,  a  sermon 
flashed  up  in  Tom's  memory  to  which  he,  with  many 
of  his  classmates,  had  listened  a  few  days  before.  The 
sermon  had  been  specially  addressed  to  those  on  the 
threshold  of  young  manhood,  and  was  charged  with 
all  the  solemn  earnestness,  the  intense  sympathy,  the 
spiritual  fervor,  of  the  speaker  whose  own  Harvard 
youth  —  so  few  decades  before  —  must  have  dwelt 
vivid  in  his  memory.  With  the  force  of  a  great  per- 
sonality, he  asserted  the  power  of  righteousness,  the 
ideal  of  Christian  manhood,  the  joy  and  inspiration 
that  come  of  a  pure,  generous,  high-purposed  life. 


36  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

• 

As  he  glanced  over  that  young,  breathless  audience, 
his  words  rang  out  with  passionate  conviction  and 
eloquence.  All  the  depth  and  tenderness  of  his 
great  nature  were  stirred,  as  he  thought  of  those 
young  men,  with  their  lives  before  them,  and  of  the 
awful  tests  waiting  to  try  soul  and  flesh  in  a  little 
while.  « 

Tom  Draycott,  like  many  of  his  classmates,  carried 
away  from  that  hour  some  fresh  inspirations  of 
thought  and  feeling ;  some  deepened  sense  of  the 
real  values  of  life  ;  a  conviction  more  or  less  earnest 
that  character  was,  after  all,  the  supreme  thing  in  the 
world. 

Though  the  feeling  would  lose  its  fine  edge  amid 
the  frictions  of  every-day  life,  it  would  be  certain  to 
recur  at  critical  moments.  Tom  Draycott  —  careless, 
high-spirited,  fortunate  youth  —  found  the  scene,  the 
sermon,  the  preacher,  starting  up  with  curious  vivid- 
ness as  he  stared  at  the  bill. 

He  stopped  whistling;  he  said  to  himself  with  a 
mixture  of  jest  and  seriousness,  "  Some  other  fellow 
—  the  first  I  come  across,  who,  it  strikes  me,  needs 
you  more  than  I  do  —  is  going  to  have  you!  I'm 
rather  hard  up  just  now,  and  every  dollar  tells  ;  but  I 
shall  be  as  well  off  as  I  was  before  I  discovered  you." 

He  slipped  the  money  into  his  waistcoat-pocket, 
where  he  could  come  at  it  easily,  and  it  passed  from 
his  mind. 

That  day  young  Draycott  happened  to  be  in  Bos- 


HOW    THE   HOUR    STRUCK  37 

ton,  on  some  errand  which  had  taken  him  and  a 
classmate  into  one  of  the  crowded  thoroughfares 
north  of  School  Street. 

As  they  were  hurrying  along,  Tom  caught  sight  of 
a  youth,  hardly  as  old  as  himself,  but  of  a  strong, 
robust  build,  standing  before  a  refectory  window 
where  various  sorts  of  appetizing  food  made  a  tempt- 
ing display. 

A  glance  over  the  figure,  from  the  worn  cap,  the 
threadbare  coat  and  trousers,  to  the  shabby  shoes, 
told  its  own  story.  The  light  had  struck  full  on  the 
youth's  profile,  and  Tom  had  caught  something  wist- 
ful and  hungry  in  its  expression. 

"  Bet  my  head  that  poor  fellow  had  no  breakfast," 
he  said  to  himself;  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  was  a 
state  of  affairs  which  his  own  experience  hardly  ad- 
mitted of  his  imagining.  Then  his  resolution  of  the 
morning  flashed  across  him.  Here  was  his  chance  ! 
If  only  his  friend  were  a  hundred  miles  off  at  that 
particular  instant ! 

The  pair  turned  into  Tremont  Street.  Then  Tom 
broke  out. 

"  See  here,  Seward !  I  must  rush  back  on  some 
errand  for  an  instant.  Keep  straight  ahead,  and  I'll 
be  up  with  you  in  a  jiffy,"  and  he  was  gone  before 
his  rather  surprised  classmate  could  utter  a  syllable. 

The  boy  —  he  was  really  one  still  —  had  turned 
away  from  the  window,  and  was  moving  along  the 
sidewalk,  when  a,  strong  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoul- 


38  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

der,  and  a  pleasant,  hearty  voice,  a  little  imperious, 
was  saying,  — 

"  Turn  straight  about,  go  inside,  and  get  you  a 
square  dinner,  instead  of  staring  at  one  through 
the  window.  Here's  the  money  to  pay  for  it  too ! " 

Before  the  dazed  youth  could  speak,  could  even 
collect  his  wits,  the  money  was  in  his  rough  hand. 

He  stared  in  dumb  bewilderment  into  the  }roung 
face,  hardly  above  his  own ;  he  saw  the  merry,  kindly 
eyes ;  the  next  moment  the  speaker  was  hurrying 
away. 

For  an  instant  the  boy  stood  transfixed.  Then 
a  swift  change,  a  deep  scarlet,  struck  through  his 
tanned  cheeks ;  he  started  for  the  stranger,  ran 
against  and  came  near  upsetting  two  or  three  peo- 
ple on  the  crowded  sidewalk ;  he  came  up  with 
young  Draycott,  just  as  the  latter  was  turning  into 
Tremont  Street. 

Tom,  not  altogether  pleased,  saw  him  at  his 
side,  — 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  hotly. 

"What  made  you  do  that?"  asked  the  yputh,  his 
eyes  riveted  on  Tom's  face. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  about  as  well  as  I  do.  I  saw 
you  standing  there,  looking  in  at  the  window,  and 
I  had  had  my  breakfast,  and  it  struck  me  that  you 
might  not  have  had  yours.  That's  about  the  size 
of  it !  " 

It  was  Tom's   cue  to   treat   the  whole  matter  in 


HOW    THE    HOUR    STRUCK  39 

a  light,  off-hand  way,  much  as  a  joke.  The  boy 
understood.  A  new  look  came  into  his  eyes.  The 
whole  expression  of  his  face  changed. 

"  It  was  a  devilish  kind  thing  to  do  !  " 

If  the  adjective  was  ambiguous  the  tone  was  not. 

Tom's  laugh  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear. 

"  I  must  rush.  A  fellow  is  waiting  for  me.  Good 
luck  to  you  and  your  dinner  !  " 

Tom  rejoined  his  puzzled  classmate.  The  whole 
incident  had  not  occupied  five  minutes.  But  a 
great  deal  for  two  lives  was  to  hinge  on  those  few 
moments. 


40  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 


A  CRITICAL   FIVE   MINUTES 

ONE  evening,  two  weeks  later,  Tom  Draycott  had 
a  long  tramp  by  himself. 

It  was  a  night  in  early  April.  The  year's  white 
slumber  was  broken  at  last.  The  wide  air,  the  great 
brown  earth,  were  haunted  by  some  prescience  of 
that  mighty  life-wave  which  would  soon  be  throl>- 
bing  at  the  heart  of  things.  A  tingling  restlessness, 
a  thirst  for  freedom  and  vast-stretching  space  in 
which  to  disport  themselves,  was  in  all  young  blood 
of  human  and  brute  creatures.  The  day,  with  its 
sunny  warmth,  its  languorous  air,  its  deep,  radiant 
sunrise,  belonged  to  the  climate  of  late  May,  and 
frosts  and  flurries  of  snow  would  be  likely  to  follow 
weather  so  out  of  season. 

Tom  Draycott's  young  blood  had  shared  the  rest- 
lessness which  was  in  the  air.  He  had  walked  for 
miles  in  the  still,  beautiful  April  night,  with  a  full 
moon  regnant  amongst  her  stars.  All  the  trees  and 
shrubs  were  bare  still ;  but  each  twig  and  bough  and 
bole  stood  out  sharply  denned  in  the  moonshine 
which  was  flooding  the  land  with  a  weird,  solemn 
splendor. 


A   CRITICAL   FIVE  MINUTES  41 

Tom  had  his  tramp  all  to  himself,  not  even  his 
shadow,  Hidalgo,  accompanying  him.  Dorothy,  going 
to  spend  the  evening  with  her  most  intimate  girl- 
friend, who  made  a  great  pet  of  the  animal,  h.id 
carried  him  off  with  her. 

It  was  getting  late  in  the  evening  when,  about 
two  miles  from  home,  young  Draycott  found  him- 
self on  a  road  which,  followed  for  a  short  distance, 
would  lead  by  rather  sinuous  and  rugged  wa}rs  to 
the  foot  of  Arlington  Heights.  A  fancy  seized  him 
to  see  the  city  with  its  line  of  brilliant  lights,  and 
its  broken  masses  of  roofs,  its  towers  and  spires, 
from  the  crest  of  the  hill.  But  it  was  probably 
less  with  an  eye  to  the  picturesque  than  with  an 
instinctive  desire  for  prolonged  motion  that  the  mus- 
cular, vigorous  youth  continued  his  tramp. 

Before  he  had  gained  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
he  remembered  that  he  was  in  close  proximity  to 
the  road  over  which  Dorothy  had  galloped  on  that 
memorable  night  when  she  finished  her  book.  By 
the  time  he  reached  the  crest  he  forgot  all  about 
the  glittering  panorama  of  the  city,  and,  passing  a 
few  houses  on  his  left,  turned  into  a  wide,  sloping 
highway.  Tom  Draycott  was  on  the  Belmont  Road. 

It  stretched  long  and  brown  before  him  between 
the  rugged  pastures  and  scant  woodlands  which 
flanked  it  on  either  side.  Plow  silent  the  old  road 
was !  A  hush,  like  a  spell,  lay  upon  it.  Who 
could  imagine  that  the  vast  city,  with  its  beating, 


42  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

hurrying,  tides  of  life,  was  so  close  at  hand ! 
The  shadows  of  birch-boughs,  barberry  clumps,  and 
tangled  blackberry  vines  were  pencilled  in  strong 
relief  against  the  moonlight.  The  gray  old  road- 
sides would  soon  be  wearing  all  their  bravery  of 
summer  wild-bloom. 

There  must  have  been  such  a  moon  as  that  over- 
head, Tom  thought,  when  his  sister  galloped  Sphinx 
over  the  road.  He  heard  Dorothy's  girlish  voice 
going  over  the  rhymes  again.  He  remembered 
what  scant  praise  he  had  awarded  them.  He  might 
have  been  more  generous,  he  thought. 

The  spell  of  that  April  evening  was  upon  him  — 
its  stillness,  its  beauty,  its  divineness.  His  thoughts 
came  and  went  in  the  radiant  silence  about  him, 
"the  long,  long  thoughts  of  youth,"  reaching  out 
to  far  spacious  horizons  of  hopes  and  dreams  and 
ambitions.  A  softer  mood  came  over  his  spirit  than 
was  common  to  his  proud,  dominant  young  man- 
hood. Then  the  look  of  amazement  and  gratitude 
which  he  had  seen  in  that  boy's  eyes  when  they 
had  that  odd  meeting  near  the  corner  of  Tremont 
Street  came  up  to  him.  Indeed,  it  had  been  coming 
up  for  the  last  two  weeks  in  the  most  unaccount- 
able ways  and  seasons  —  sometimes  when  he  was 
having  a  jolly  bout  with  his  classmates. 

A  little  snowy  wing  of  cloud  swept  across  the 
moon.  Tom  had  reached  a  point  now  where  the 
road  was  intersected  by  another  on  his  right.  On 


A   CRITICAL   FIVE   MINUTES  43 

the  left  a  group  of  evergreens  made  a  mass  of  black 
shadow  that  looked  rather  grewsome  in  the  night. 
Tom  knew  that,  despite  the  solemn  stillness  around 
him,  a  turn  in  the  road,  only  a  short  distance  off, 
would  bring  him  into  the  vicinity  of  the  outlying 
farmhouses  in  Belmont. 

Then  it  came  upon  him,  so  suddenly,  so  unex- 
pectedly, that  it  seemed  to  leap  from  the  air,  but  it 
was  dealt  with  such  blind  force  that  young  Dray- 
cott  staggered  and  fairly  lost  his  balance. 

Something  had  sprung  upon  him,  powerful,  reso- 
lute, hostile.  It  had  leapt  from  the  road  on  his  right 
so  swiftly  and  silently  that  Tom  had  been  taken 
utterly  unawares. 

The  blow  had  come  from  behind.  The  swift 
instinct  of  self-defence  flashed  to  brain  and  heart. 
With  a  gasp  and  a  growl  of  rage,  Tom  turned  on  his 
assailant.  He  had  a  swift  sense  that  he  was  con- 
fronting a  square-built,  figure,  somewhat  under  his 
own  height.  Then  he  closed  with  it. 

O 

Tom  Draycott  was  a  strong,  athletic  fellow,  and 
his  college  gymnastics  kept  him  in  fine  physical 
condition.  But  he  soon  discovered,  though  he  was 
dealing  with  no  trained  athlete,  that  his  assailant 
had  a  muscular  strength  and  a  power  of  planting  his 
fists  which  would  tax  all  his  energies  to  defend  him- 
self. 

It  was  no  play  now.  On  the  still  night  air,  un- 
stirred by  a  ripple  of  wind,  broke  no  sdhnd  but  the 


44  "  SIES,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

swift  blows  and  the  struggling  breaths.  For  a  time 
neither  side  gained  any  decided  advantage. 

Was  he  fighting  with  this  ruffian  for  his  life  ?  The 
thought,  flashing  across  Tom  Draycott,  made  his 
brain  cool,  his  senses  alert,  in  the  midst  of  his  rage 
arid  peril. 

His  last  blow  had  told.  He  knew  that  by  the 
breathing  of  his  foe.  But  the  latter's  turn  came 
soon.  A  heavy  fist  was  planted  in  Tom's  side.  It 
seemed  as  though  his  ribs  were  smashed ;  he  saw 
stars  ;  then  a  faintness  came  over  him ;  he  fell  to  the 
ground.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  was  at  the  mercy 
of  his  enemy.  The  moon  swam  out  of  the  cloud. 
The  light  shone  full  upon  the  two  in  the  old  pasture- 
road. 

Then  there  was  a  cry.  It  pierced  through  young 
Draycott's  momentary  blankness.  It  was  full  of 
unutterable  surprise,  horror,  remorse. 

Tom  leaped  to  his  feet,  still  shaken  and  dizzied, 
every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  boiling  with  rage. 
His  deadly  assailant  was  now  shrinking  and  cower- 
ing before  him.  Tom  advanced  on  him  with  clenched 
fist. 

"You  villanous  young  rascal,"  he  roared,  "you'll 
find  this  attack  will  cost  you  dear  before  I  get  through 
with  you." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  was  you.  I  didn't  know," 
pleaded  the  other  in  a  tone  of  helpless  despair.  Tom 
could  have  knocked  him  down  with  a  feather. 


A   CRITICAL   FIVE   MINUTES  45 

"  But  /  knew ! "  retorted  Tom,  stinging  and 
bruised  with  the  blows,  and  in  anything  but  a  mood 
to  be  placated.  "  You  meant  to  rob  me.  That  was 
your  game,  and  the  State's  Prison  is  the  place  for 
you." 

There  was  no  reply  this  time.  Tom  saw  the  figure 
shrink  and  cower  again. 

The  two  stood  still  and  stared  at  each  other.  Each, 
too,  must  have  been  smarting  from  the  other's  blows; 
but  no  bones  had  been  broken,  no  serious  harm  done. 
The  whole  struggle  probably  occupied  less  than 
three  minutes. 

Tom's  first  impulse  was  to  order  the  fellow  to 
march  off  with  him ;  he  resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of 
him  until  he  was  in  the  hands  of  the  police.  Then 
that  pleading,  despairing  cry  broke  out  again.  This 
time  the  words  struck  Tom  through  all  his  towering 
rage. 

"  I didrit  know  it  was  you" 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  You  knew  it 
was  somebody  on  the  highway,  and  meant  to  rob 
him.  What  a  dastardly  business  that  was,  too, 
sneaking  up  behind  a  man  on  a  lonely  road  and 
knocking  him  down  ! " 

The  same  silence  —  the  same  cowering  air. 

Then  the  fact  struck  Tom  that  he  had  been  com- 
pletely in  this  fellow's  power  for  an  instant.  He 
might,  after  that  last  blow,  have  pommelled  him  sense- 
less, robbed  him,  and  left  him  lying  in  the  moonlight 


46  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

on  the  solitary  pasture-road.  But  for  some  mysteri- 
ous reason  he  had  fallen  back  like  one  smitten  with 
fear  or  remorse.  What  did  those  words  —  so  curi- 
ously reiterated  —  mean  ? 

"  Come ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  loud  and  wrathful. 
"  If  such  a  scoundrel  as  you  has  anything  to  say  for 
himself  —  say  it !  " 

"  I've  said  all  I  can,"  in  a  dogged,  hopeless  tone. 
"  I  didn't  see  you  ;  I  didn't  know  it  was  you." 

"  You  were  not  likely  to  know  who  I  was,  I  im- 
agine. But  you  meant  to  knock  me  down  'and  rob 
me!" 

"Yes  ;  afore  I  see  you." 

"  Then,  you  confounded  rascal,  you  pretend  to  say 
you  know  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  see  you  once." 

Tom  told  himself  the  fellow  —  a  highway  robber 
on  his  own  confession  —  was  probably  lying ;  yet  by 
this  time  his  curiosity  was  a  good  deal  aroused. 

"  Where  do  you  pretend  you  ever  saw  me  ?  " 

"Don't  you  remember,  sir?  I'm  the  fellow  you 
gave  the  money  to,  week  afore  last,  near  Tremont 
Street." 

Tom  stared  at  his  whilom  enemy  a  moment.  Then 
he  recalled  the  face.  In  the  bright  moonshine  he 
could  see  the  eyes  which  had  been  haunting  him  for 
the  last  week.  The  discovery  caused  so  strong  a 
revulsion  in  his  feelings  that  he  was  provoked  at 
himself. 


A   CRITICAL   FIVE   MINUTES  47 

"  Pretty  way  you've  taken  to  show  your  gratitude 
to  a  man  for  doing  you  a  kindness  !  " 

There  was  no  reply  ;  only  Tom  was  more  open 
to  the  misery  and  despair  in  the  young  fellow's  look 
and  manner. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  up  to  this  sort  of 
game?  "  his  tone  as  severe  as  he  could  make  it. 

"  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  tried  it." 

And  again  Tom  told  himself  he  did  not  believe  the 
fellow  ;  but  all  the  same  he  partly  did. 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  " 

"Because  I  was  hungry,  powerful  hungry, "  he 
repeated. 

This  statement  occasioned  a  still  stronger  revulsion 
of  feeling  on  young  Draycott's  part.  He,  however, 
kept  up  a  show  of  severity  in  tone  and  manner,  and 
took  refuge  in  general  principles. 

"  It  was  better  to  beg  than  take  to  your  game. 
There  are  plenty  of  people  who  would  be  willing  to 
give  a  hungry  man  a  dinner." 

"  But  if  he  asked  at  the  back  door  he'd  stand  a 
chance  of  bein'  taken  for  a  tramp,  and  put  in  the 
lockup." 

This  succinct  statement  of  the  facts  left  Tom  with- 
out a  reply. 

After  a  little  pause  he  recurred  to  another  question. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  had  a  square  meal  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  slice  o'  bread  and  a  glass  of  milk  yester- 
day, and  a  biscuit  and  some  apples  to-day." 


48  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "     Tom's  tone  was  much  mollified. 

"  Yes." 

Young  Draycott  thought  of  his  own  six  luxurious 
meals  during  that  time,  and  his  sympathy  got  upper- 
most now. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  moment. 

"  Dake  Cramley." 

It  struck  Tom  that  the  first  name  might  be  the 
survival  of  some  polysyllabic  one. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "haven't  you  any  family, 
any  friends,  who  would  help  you  over  a  rougli  place  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  got  no  family  livin',  and  no  friends  I'd 
like  to  go  on  when  I  was  hard  up." 

"  You  look  like  a  strong,  robust  fellow,  then,  who 
might  get  hold  of  some  sort  of  work,  if  he  tried  for 
it." 

"  I  have  tried  for  it  lots  o'  times.  But  jest  now 
'tain't  so  easy  to  git.  There's  more  hands  than's 
wanted.  That's  why  they  turned  me  off  from  the 
Lowell  Railroad  where  I  had  a  job  for  awhile." 

And  again  Tom  found  no  answer. 

"Well,  come  along,"  he  said  shortly,  after  a  few 
moments'  deliberation. 

The  strangely  assorted  brace,  who  a  few  moments 
before  had  been  at  each  other's  throats,  turned  and 
walked  together  in  silence  over  the  road  which 
shouldered  itself  up  to  the  Heights.  They  passed 
the  few  scattered  houses  on  the  crest,  and  then  de- 
scended the  slope  of  hill,  until  they  turned  at  right 


A   CRITICAL   FIVE   MINUTES  49 

angles  into  the  solitary  highway  which  leads  over  to 
Arlington. 

Every  little  while  Tom  shot  a  questioning  glance 
at  his  companion.  It  struck  him  that  the  stalwart 
fellow  walked  rather  feebly,  and  that  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  keep  up  with  his  own  stride.  That,  how- 
ever, was  easily  accounted  for  if  he  had  not  eaten  a 
solid  meal  for  two  days. 

It  would  have  been  the  easiest  matter  in  the  world 
to  give  the  fellow  into  the  hands  of  the  first  police- 
man they  met.  Tom  believed  he  would  not  have 
made  the  slightest  resistance  —  doubted,  indeed, 
whether  he  would  greatly  care.  He  had  probably 
expended  his  utmost  strength  in  his  short,  desperate 
assault,  and  the  shock  with  which  he  had  recognized 
his  antagonist  had  evidently  upset  him. 

Tom  began  mentally  to  make  excuses  for  his  com- 
panion, and  then  was  exasperated  with  himself  to 
find  that  his  anger  had  all  evaporated. 

He  broke  the  silence  at  last  in  a  tone  which  was 
not  intended  to  betray  much  softening  of  mood. 

"  According  to  your  own  statement,  then,  you 
started  off  to-night  intending  to  waylay  the  first  man 
you  could  find,  knock  him  down,  and  rob  him.  Those 
are  the  plain  facts,  as  I  understand  them." 

"  I  know  it  looks  so,"  replied  the  boy,  in  a  half- 
sullen,  half-indifferent  manner,  his  gait  slacking  a 
little,  and  his  shoulders  bent  forward,  as  one's  might 
from  sheer  weakness. 


50  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

Then  of  a  sudden  he  stopped  short,  drew  himself 
up,  faced  Tom,  and  spoke  out  earnestly. 

"  But  the  way  it  looks,  sir,  ain't  the  truth  for  all 
that.  I'd  no  notion,  no  more  than  you,  of  rob- 
bin'  any  man  when  I  left  the  city  this  mornin'.  It 
was  pleasant,  and  I  wanted  to  be  out  in  the  sunshine 
and  fresh  air.  I  had  a  kind  o'  feeling  they'd  make 
me  forgit  what  a  hungry  dog  I  was..  I  walked  on 
and  on,  and  had  as  good  a  time  as  a  feller  could  who 
hasn't  had  his  breakfast  and  nothin'  to  eat  the  day 
before — at  least  not  a  meal  for  a  robin.  I  couldn't 
make  up  my  mind  to  stop  at  some  door,  and  say  I 
was  hungry,  and  take  my  chances  of  being  hustled  off 
to  the  lockup.  But  I  was  about  used  up  when  night 
came,  between  the  walkin'  and  a  hollow  and  a  knawiii' 
inside. 

"  I'd  got  round  to  Belmont  without  much  mindin' 
where  I  went,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  into 
the  woods  there  and  bunk  for  the  night,  and  next 
mornin'  run  my  chance,  start  for  the  first  farm- 
house, and  ask  for  somethin'  to  eat.  Folks  might 
think  better  of  me  in  the  daytime  than  seem'  me 
prowlin'  round  at  night. 

"  Then  you  came  along  jest  as  I  turned  into  the 
road,  lookin'  so  strong  and  powerful  swell,  and 
whistlin'  to  yourself  with  that  high  and  mighty 
air,  as  though  the  world  wasn't  good  enough  for 
you  to  tread  on.  It  seemed  as  though  you  was 
a-doin'  it  all  jest  to  crow  over  nie.  It  fired  me 


A   C 11  IT  1C  A  L   FIVE   MINUTES  51 

up  mad  to. see  }'ou.  I  didn't  stop  to  think.  Afore 
I  knew  what  I  was  about  I  was  on  you. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  hit  any  body  bad ;  but  I  meant 
to  knock  you  down,  and  scare  you  into  givin'  me 
some  money,  and  gettin'  a  solid  meal  afore  I  slept. 
But  you  was  so  game  I  had  to  hit  out  harder  than  I 
meant.  If  I'd  known  'twas  you,"  falling  back  on 
the  old  plea,  "  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head ; 
no  sir-ee,  I  wouldn't,  not  if  I'd  starved.  But  'tain't 
reason  you  should  put  yourself  in  my  place." 

The  last  sentence,  half  to  himself,  was  in  a  slightly 
lowered  key. 

In  a  little  while  they  were  among  the  houses  of 
the  bustling  little  town  which  lay  sleeping  among 
its  hills  in  the  white  moonlight. 

Young  Draycott  was  meanwhile  doing  the  very 
thing  which  Dake  Cramley  had  pronounced  impos- 
sible,—  putting  himself  in  the  other's  place. 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "  I 
might  have  done  no  better  if  I  had  been  in  his 
cracked  old  shoes  to-night,  a  homeless,  penniless, 
starving  tramp  !  It's  horribly  hard  lines  !  Curious, 
this  difference  in  human  fates !  It  doesn't  seem  fair 
on  the  under  dog  !  "  A  twinge  in  his  right  arm,  a 
soreness  under  his  ribs,  did  not  overcome  the.  pity 
which  by  this  time  had  gained  the  mastery  of  all 
other  emotions. 

The  question  which  now  faced  young  Draycott 
was  a  perplexing  one,  doubly  so,  as  its  answer  did 
not  admit  of  delay. 


52  "  SHIS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

"  He  had  got  this  fellow  on  his  hands ;  what  was 
he  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

A  vague  notion  of  carrying  him  off  to  Red  Knolls, 
giving  him  a  supper,  and  a  berth  in  the  stable-loft, 
had  soon  to  be  dismissed.  In  his  father's  absence  he 
could  not  assume  the  responsibility  of  exposing  the 
small  household  to  any  risks  by  bringing  this  stran- 
ger into  its  proximity. 

Several  other  plans  presented  themselves  to  be 
rapidly  disposed  of.  The  last  one,  however,  became 
audible. 

"  Hold  up  a  minute,  you  Dake  Cramley,  and  hear 
what  I  have  to  say  ! 

"  I  am  going  to  prove  to  you  just  what  a  hopeless 
jackass  I  am ;  for  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  you  have 
sprung  on  me,  knocked  me  down,  and  half-pommelled 
the  life  out*of  me,  I  am  going  to  try  if  something 
can't  be  done  for  you  !  Confound  it  all !  There 
must  be  something  worth  saving  in  you ;  for  you 
did  remember  I  had  once  done  you  a  favor. 

"When  the  Boston  train  comes  along  —  it's  almost 
due  now — I  want  you  to  jump  aboard.  Here  is  a 
car-fare  and  some  change."  Tom  had  emptied  his 
pocket,  and  he  pressed  ticket  and  coin  into  the 
other's  hand. 

"  The  first  thing  you  do,  after  you  reach  Boston, 
put  for  a  restaurant,  and  get  a  square  meal.  To- 
morrow night  —  no,"  checking  himself,  "there's  that 
class-business  —  the  night  after  —  I'll  see  you,  and, 


A  CRITICAL   FIVE  MINUTES  53 

meanwhile,  make  it  a  point  to  try  what  can  be  done 
for  you.  You  are  willing  to  work  —  buckle  down  in 
good  earnest,  you  say?" 

"  Yes."  It  was  a  husky  articulation,  as  though 
speech  did  not  come  easily;  but  the  eyes  which 
looked  at  Tom  Draycott  were  the  eyes  which  had 
been  haunting  him,  more  or  less,  during  the  last 
fortnight. 

"  Well,  I  will  search  round  to  get  you  a  chance," 
the  voice  much  softened  now.  "Don't  forget,  night 
after  to-morrow.  Be  on  hand  any  time  after  seven 
o'clock.  Wait  until  ten  for  me,  if  I  don't  appear 
sooner,  on  the  Common  —  Park  side  —  plenty  of 
benches  there.  You  know  where  it  is  ?  " 

"  Should  think  I  did,"  said  Dake  Cramley. 

"  There  come  the  cars !  We'll  have  to  hurry ! 
Why,  fellow,  don't  stagger  so ! "  putting  out  his 
arm  to  steady  the  youth  who  appeared  ready  to  drop 
with  weakness. 

"  Get  a  bowl  of  hot  soup  the  first  thing  after  your 
fast.  I'm  going  to  see  you  on  the  train." 

It  was  thundering  into  the  station. 


54  "SIUS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN 


VI 

A   BREAKFAST   DIALOGUE 

"  TOM  DRAYCOTT,  I  do  believe  you  are  the  worst 
bear  on  the  planet  this  morning." 

Dorothy  laid  down  her  fork  as  she  made  this  re- 
mark, and  looked  with  grave  reproof  at  her  brother. 

They  were  at  breakfast  in  the  pleasant  sun-flooded 
dining-room,  where  the  furnishings  and  appointments, 
mostly  in  neutral  tints,  produced  charming  effects. 

Some  choice  pictures,  paintings  and  engravings, 
were  on  the  walls,  while  the  table,  with  its  silver  and 
delicate  china,  all  combined  to  form  an  attractive 
environment  for  the  two  young  people  who  were 
having  their  morning  meal,  under  circumstances 
which  it  seemed  left  nothing  to  desire.  Indeed,  one 
might  question  whether  a  king's  palace  dining-room, 
with  all  its  spacious  splendor,  might  not  miss  that 
simple  charm  which  invested  like  an  atmosphere  all 
the  Red  Knolls  interior,  and  which  was  owing  to  the 
taste  and  the  fine  feeling  for  color  of  the  absent 
mistress. 

Dorothy  sat  in  her  mother's  place  before  the  coffee- 
urn.  She  wore  a  cloth  dress  of  olive  green,  some 
silk  of  an  amber  shade  and  soft  gauzy  texture  at  her 


A   BREAKFAST   DIALOGUE  55 

white  young  throat.  The  sunlight  made  a  shining 
bronze  in  the  dark  thick  mesh  of  hair  on  her  fore- 
head. She  formed  a  centre  of  girlish  bloom  and 
grace  for  that  charming  interior. 

"It's  safest  to  let  bears  alone,"  retorted  Tom  in  a 
gruff  tone  ;  "  if  you  don't,  they're  apt  to  growl  and 
show  their  teeth  dangerously." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  it,  after  my  long  experience 
with  that  species  of  animal." 

Dorothy's  eyes  sparkled  defiantly,  but  there  was  a 
tell-tale  smile  about  the  curves  of  her  mouth. 

"  A  girl  never  knows  when  to  let  a  fellow  alone," 
Tom  continued,  helping  himself  to  a  fresh  supply 
of  omelette.  "  You  have  been  chatting  about 
that  party  ever  since  we  sat  down.  It  is  such  a 
bore." 

"It  was  anything  but  a  bore,  I  can  assure  you,  to 
those  who  were  present.  We  had  a  splendid  time, 
and  so  might  you,  Tom  Draycott,  if  you  had  only 
done  the  civil  thing  and  gone  with  me.  I  thought 
Gene  vie  ve  looked  disappointed  when  I  came  in 
alone." 

"  You  contrived  to  carry  off  Hidalgo  with  you. 
He  could  certainly  protect  you  as  well  as  I." 

Doro.thy  raised  her  brown,  straight  brows. 

"No  doubt!  At  least,  I  should  always  prefer  a 
dog's  protection  to  a  bear's." 

Ordinarily  Tom  would  have  laughed  at  this  retort. 
Despite  his  young  masculine  conceit,  he  was  always 


56  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

aware,  and  usually  ready  to  admit,  when  his  young 
sister's  feminine  wits  got  the  better  of  his. 

But  this  morning  Tom  Draycott  was  not  in  a  good 
humor.  His  muscles  were  stiff,  and  his  bruises  gave 
him  many  sharp  twinges,  all  of  which  lie  felt  like 
visiting  on  the  head  of  Dake  Cramley.  He  won- 
dered whether  the  fellow  was  not  a  thorough-going 
scoundrel  after  all,  and  whether  he  had  not  proved 
himself  a  sentimental  crank  last  night. 

"  You  are  always  ready  to  accuse  me  of  incivility 
toward  some  of  your  friends,"  he  continued.  "  As 
though  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  train  round  after 
every  .chit  of  a  girl  you  take  a  notion  to  gush 
over." 

"  Chit  of  a  girl !  Gush  over !  "  echoed  Dorothy 
in  a  raised  key,  bridling  her  pretty  head.  "  I  can 
bear  any  names  you  may  choose  to  call  me ;  but  I  do 
beg  you  will  speak  with  respect  of  the  dearest  girl 
in  the  world,  and  my  most  intimate  friend." 

Tom  had  a  young  man's  slight  opinion  of  girl- 
friendships,  but  he  knew  this  was  a  point  on  which 
his  sister  was  sensitive.  A  quarrel  would  spoil  the 
breakfast  hour.  Tom's  sense,  or  his  conscience,  came 
to  the  rescue. 

"  Suppose  we  call  a  halt  just  here.  We  each  have 
a  grievance.  Yours  is  all  about  a  party,  and  mine 
is  my  dog." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  you  really  cared  for  Hidalgo, 
Tom?"  " 


A   BREAKFAST    DIALOGUE  57 

"  I  mean  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  him  with 
rne  last  night.  A  man  likes  his  dog's  company  on  a 
lonely  tramp." 

At  this  point  Tom  was  conscious  of  sundry  dart- 
ings  and  shootings  on  his  left  side.  He  hoped  "  the 
other  fellow  had  some  of  the  same  kind." 

"  Will  you  give  me  another  cup  of  coffee  —  a  little 
more  cream,  please  ?  " 

As  Dorothy  handed  back  the  cup,  the  small  table 
at  which  they  took  breakfast  saving  the  necessity 
of  a  maid,  and  affording  greater  freedom  to  the 
conversation,  the  light  struck  Tom's  face  at  a  new 
angle. 

"  Tom,"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  a  startled  tone, 
"  you  have  a  black  mark  above  your  right  eye. 
Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  A  girl  is 
always  fancying  she  sees  things." 

"  But  it  is  no  fancy  this  time.  As  though  I 
hadn't  eyes!  Something  must  have  happened  to  you 
last  night,  or  you  would  not  have  been  so  —  so  dis- 
agreeable this  morning." 

Tom  tried  a  laugh,  but  it  was  not  all  amusement, 
and  Dorothy's  ears  were  as  keen  as  her  eyes. 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  watching  her  brother  in- 
tently, and  recalling  what  he  had  said  about  wanting 
Hidalgo  last  night.  At  last  she  asked  very  gravely, 
"  Tom,  have  you  been  fighting  with  anybody  ?  " 

That  clever  little  sister  of  his  was  certainly  driving 


58  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

him  into  a  corner  !     Tom  made  an  effort  to  bluff  her 
off. 

"  '  Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite, 
For  'tis  their  nature  to,'  " 

he  murmured. 

"  O  Tom !  you  know  that  is  not  answering  my 
question." 

"  Will  you  please  to  answer  mine  ? '  By  what  sort 
of  authority  do  you  set  yourself  up  an  inquisitor  into 
my  actions  ?  " 

"  I  see  how  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  Dorothy,  not  deign- 
ing to  notice  this  query.  "  You've  had  a  quarrel 
with  some  of  those  Sophomores !  How  mamma 
would  feel ! " 

"  That's  it !  "  subjoined  Tom.  "  He's  a  bad  boy. 
Threaten  him  with  his  mamma  again  !  " 

But  he  was  secretly  delighted  to  perceive  that  his 
sister  was  on  the  false  trail  now. 

Then  Dorothy's  anxious  look,  and  the  real  manli- 
ness at  bottom  with  Tom  Draycott,  made  him  say 
suddenly  in  a  changed  tone,  — 

"  Have  you  no  better  opinion  of  me  than  questions 
of  this  sort  imply  ?  Must  I  tell  you  that  your 
mother's  son  has  done  nothing  he  would  be  ashamed 
to  have  her  know  ?  " 

Dorothy's  brow  cleared. 

"But  something  —  somebody,"  she  continued  in  a 
moment,  "  has  been  hurting  you,  Tom.  That  black 
bruise  never  came  of  itself." 


A    BREAKFAST    DIALOGUE  59 

"  Please  don't  say  any  more  about  it."  The  tone 
was  half  irritable,  half  entreating.  "  I  suppose  you 
would  not  object  to  my  using  my  fists  when  it  came 
to  a  matter  of  self-defence  ?  " 

Dorothy's  eyes  flashed  fiercely. 

"  I  have  always  heard  those  Harvard  Sophomores 
—  at  least  a  good  many  of  them  —  were  no  better 
than  whooping  savages.  Now  I  believe  it.  If  they 
dare  to  set  on  you,  Tom,  I  hope  you  will  pay  them 
back  in  their  own  coin.  Wretches  !  " 

Tom  was  mentally  revolving  whether  class-loyalty 
demanded  of  him  an  assertion  of  Sophomore  guiltless- 
ness in  the  present  case,  when  the  entrance  of  the 
maid  with  the  morning  mail  created  a  happy  diver- 
sion. 

But  Dorothy,  just  before  she  left  for  her  Boston 
class  that  morning,  turned  back  to  the  library  and 
said  to  her  brother,  half  seriously,  half  archly,  — 

"  Tom,  do  you  suppose  you  and  I  will  ever  evolve, 
as  papa  says,  into  such  saints  that  we  shall  stop  teas- 
ing each  other?" 

Tom  raised  his  eyebrows,  looked  quizzically  at  his 
sister,  who  made  a  charming  picture  standing  there  in 
her  light-colored  cloth  coat,  and  the  toque  of  a  dark 
shade,  its  loops  of  crimson  ribbon,  crossed  with  a  sil- 
ver arrow,  surmounting  her  dark-bright  mesh  of  hair. 

"  That  millennial  period  will  dawn,"  he  said,  "  when 
a  girl  can  be  made  to  understand  and  make  some 
allowance  for  a  fellow's  mood." 


60  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

Dorothy  was  ready  with  her  retort.  Not  all  the 
softness  which  had  supervened  on  reading  her 
mother's  letter  could  hold  it  back. 

"And  also  when  a  fellow  can  be  taught  to  have 
some  idea  and  make  some  allowance  for  a  girl's 
feelings!" 

Tom  Draycott,  going  to  recitations  that  morning, 
conscious  of  a  black  eye  and  a  general  stiffness  and 
soreness,  was  not  in  a  particularly  agreeable  frame  of 
mind. 

"  I  feel  like  a  bruised,  battered  old  hulk,"  he  was 
saying  to  himself.  "  Pretty  mess  I've  got  myself 
into !  Better  that  bill  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea  than  going  into  that  precious  rascal's  paw. 

"  Of  course,  he  is  laughing  in  his  shabby  old  sleeve 
at  the  pretty  game  he  played,  and  the  way  he  kept 
out  of  the  policeman's  hands. 

"  It's  plain  to  the  universe  that  any  creature  more 
than  one  remove  from  a  gibbering  idiot  wouldn't 
have  been  taken  in  as  easily  as  I  was  last  night. 

"  That  isn't  the  worst  of  it,  either.  I  have  given 
my  word  to  see  the  villain  to-morrow  night,  and  I'm 
honor  bound  to  try  and  give  him  a  pull  out  of  the 
slums.  Nice  time  I  shall  have  of  it,  no  doubt ! 

"  Ugh !  There  goes  my  arm  again.  It  makes  a 
fellow  want  to  swear." 


CAPITALIST   AND    SOPHOMORE  61 


.    VII 

CAPITALIST   AND   SOPHOMORE 

THE  next  morning  Tom  Draycott  might  have  been 
seen  entering  the  office  of  a  large  paper  manufactur- 
ing house  on  Devonshire  Street. 

It  was  still  early  business  hours.  The  head  of  the 
house  —  the  controlling  brain  of  the  vast  paper-mills 
in  the  western  part  of  the  State  —  had  just  seated 
himself  at  his  desk.  He  was  getting  stout,  and  his 
well-trimmed  beard  and  hair  were  turning  iron-gray. 
He  had  a  square,  solid  head,  and  the  swift,  shrewd 
glance  of  one  who  was  used  to  taking  rapid  measures 
of  men.  You  would  have  known  in  an  instant  that 
here  was  a  practical,  well-balanced,  successful  man, 
one  who  had  looked  the  world  squarely  in  the  face, 
and  made  his  account  with  it. 

"  Tom,  my  boy,  I'm  heartily  glad  to  see  3~ou." 

The  brightening  of  his  face  as  he  recognized  young 
Draycott  gave  it  a  pleasant  expression. 

The  two  shook  hands,  the  younger  seated  himself 
by  the  table. 

"  I'm  lucky  to  strike  you  this  morning,  Mr.  Mere- 
dith," he  said;  "I  rushed  over  early  for  that  very 
purpose." 


62  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  You  are  in  the  nick  of  time.  Half  an  hour  later, 
I  must  be  off  to  a  bank-directors'  meeting." 

A  few  queries  and  replies  about  Red  Knolls,  and 
the  latest  advices  from  the  travellers,  intervened ;  and 
with  the  first  pause,  Tom  broke  in  hastily,  — 

"  My  special  errand  at  this  time  is  to  recall  to  you, 
Mr.  Meredith,  some  words  you  once  said  to  me." 

"  Well,  let's  have  them,  Tom,"  pushing  away  the 
papers  on  his  desk,  leaning  back  in  his  office-chair,  and 
confronting  his  young  friend  with  an  encouraging 
smile. 

"'If  I  can  ever  do  you  a  favor,  Tom,  for  your 
father's  sake,  make  no  bones  of  coming  to  me  at  once. 
I'll  serve  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability.'  " 

The  head  of  the  firm  of  Meredith,  Max,  &  Co.  had 
been  a  schoolmate  of  Donald  Draycott.  The  men, 
unlike  as  they  were  in  temperament,  and  in  a  large 
range  of  ideas  and  standards,  had  always  kept  up  the 
old  boy-liking  for  each  other. 

"  Well,  Tom,  I'm  ready  to  stand  by  my  word  to 
your  father's  boy.  -  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Thank  you — lots.  But  the  favor  doesn't  hap- 
pen to  be  for  myself  this  time.  It  is  for —  a  fello\v  I 
take  an  interest  in."  He  found  it  a  little  awkward 
to  introduce  such  a  protege. 

"Oh,  that  is  it?  Some  classmate  in  trouble, 
eh?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  of  that  sort !  "  Tom's  disclaimer 
was  half-amused  at  seeing  how  wide  the  other  was 


CAPITALIST   AND   SOPHOMORE  63 

of  the  mark.  "  The  fellow  is  about  as  low  down  as 
you  can  find  them,  —  friendless,  homeless,  penniless, 
and  all  the  related  adjectives.  I  want  to  give  him  a 
lift,  and  do  it  in  a  hurry.  I  think  there  is  stuff  in 
him  worth  saving ;  but  he  will  go  to  the  dogs,  sure 
as  gravitation,  if  somebody  doesn't  step  in  at  this 
crisis.  I  can  give  you  no  references  as  to  char- 
acter or  ability.  I  could  not  honestly  ask  you  to 
place  him  in  any  position  of  trust  or  importance. 
The  truth  is,  I  have  happened  to  cross  his  path,  and 
learn  something  which  makes  me  want  to  put  him  in 
the  way  of  getting  his  bread  and  shelter.  I  have 
been  turning  the  matter  over  in  my  mind  for  the  last 
twenty- four  hours.  I  can  find  no  solution  to  the 
problem  ;  I  have  come  to  you  to  help  me." 

Richard  Meredith  was  by  nature  and  experience  a 
shrewd  reader  of  people.  He  was  satisfied  Tom 
knew  something  not  altogether  to  his  prot egg's 
credit. 

He  mused  a  moment,  fingering  his  watch-chain. 

"  A  man,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  a  mere  boy ;  at  least,  I  should  hardly 
think  he  could  be  eighteen — a  strong-built,  muscular 
young  fellow,  but  in  a  bad  case ;  has  had,  I  happen 
to  know,  a  sharp  tussle  with  starvation." 

"  That  is  rough.  You  are  your  father's  son,  I  see, 
Tom."  The  elder  man  looked  at  the  younger  with 
approving  eyes.  "  But  you  know  we  can't  run  our 
business  on  philanthropic  lines.  That  may  sound 


64  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN 

hard  to  you.  It  does  to  me  when  it  comes  to  special 
instances.  I  wish  you  could  give  me  a  little  more 
decided  record  of  this  fellow." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  a  little  uneasy,  as  the  memory 
of  a  recent  moonlight  scene  rose  sharply  before  him. 
"  It  wouldn't  be  fair  for  me,  however,  to  ask  you  to 
assume  any  risks.  I  can  only  say  what  I  would  to 
my  father  if  he  were  sitting  in  your  chair:  'I  am 
soriy  for  the  boy.  I  believe  there  is  some  good  in 
him.  Won't  you  give  him  a  chance  ?  ' : 

The  man  was  certain  his  young  friend  held  some- 
thing back.  Tom  perceived  this.  He  had  a  swift 
impulse  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  wrhole  affair 
with  Dake  Cramley  ;  but  a  second  thought  —  a  feel- 
ing for  the  boy  —  kept  him  silent.  Mr.  Meredith 
waited  a  few  moments  and  resumed,  — 

"  I  heard  yesterday  they  wanted  some  help  down 
at  the  warehouse  in  the  packing-room,  a  strong, 
active,  handy  sort  of  fellow,  needed  for  that  sort  of 
work." 

"  I  think  he  would  fill  the  bill  so  far,"  rejoined 
Tom. 

A  few  more  queries  and  replies  ensued. 

The  result  of  all  was  that  Mr.  Meredith  said  to 
Tom,- 

"  Well,  I  will  keep  my  word,  Tom.  Your  protege 
shall  have  a  chance.  Tell  him  to  be  here  to-morrow 
morning  at  nine  o'clock,  sharp.  I  will  trust  my  own 
judgment  for  the  rest;  and  if  it  is  fairly  favorable, 


CAPITALIST    AND   SOPHOMORE  65 

he  shall  be  set  at  work  in  short  order.  I  can't  prom- 
ise more  than  that ;  and  I  am  doing  this,  my  boy,  for 
your  sake  and  your  father's." 

"  A  thousand  thanks." 

Some  people  entered  the  office.  Tom  sprang  to 
his  feet.  A  shooting  pain  under  his  ribs  made  him 
hope  that  Dake  Cramley  would  give  him  the  slip 
that  night. 

There  was  only  time  to  get  his  friend's  promise  to 
telephone  the  result  of  next  morning's  interview. 


66  "sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


VIII 

A   MEETING    ON    THE   MALL 

IT  was  a  beautiful  April  evening  when  Tom  Dray- 
cott  turned  from  Beacon  Street  into  the  Common. 
The  robins  had  already  sung  in  the  elm  boughs  over- 
head. The  earth-scents,  strong  and  succulent,  were 
in  the  air.  The  dead,  melancholy  brown  of  the 
grass  was  changing  to  a  live,  vivid  green.  In  the 
west  some  embers  of  sunset  still  lingered — flakes  of 
dull  red  on  a  long  stretch  of  molten  gold. 

Tom's  questioning  gaze  flashed  along  the  line  of 
seats  which  flanked  one  side  of  the  mall,  and  which 
were  largely  occupied  at  this  hour  by  habitues  of 
the  locality.  As  he  came  over  the  Harvard  Bridge 
that  evening,  he  had  again  tried  to  feel  that  he  should 
felicitate  himself  if  Dake  Cramley  did  not  turn  up, 
and  so  would  be  off  his  conscience  forever. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  interest  in  that 
interrogative  glance  as  it  flashed  from  one  to 
another  of  the  sitters.  Tom's  young,  healthy  muscles 
were  rapidly  regaining  their  elasticity,  and  their 
milder  twinges  had  softened  his  mood  toward  Dake 
Cramley. 

A  figure  sprang  up  from  one  of  the  benches,  and 


A   MEETING    ON. THE   MALL  G7 

came  rapidly  toward  young  Draycott.  He  recognized 
the  robust  build,  the  shabby  dress,  in  an  instant. 

As  it  drew  nearer,  too,  he  saw  the  glad  light  min- 
gled with  something  like  shame  or  remorse  in  the 
eyes. 

Young  Draycott  had  forestalled  a  role  of  coolness 
and  dignity  as  the  proper  thing  for  his  share  in  the 
impending  interview ;  but  he  forgot  all  about  that 
now,  and  said  in  a  frank,  off-hand  way,  likely  to  re- 
lieve any  strain  of  the  situation,  — 

"  Well,  you're  up  to  time,  I  see  !  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Dake,  awkwardly  conscious. 
"  I've  been  sittin'  here  an  hour ;  I  was  bound  not  to 
miss  you." 

"  We  must  plunge  right  into  business  now,  as  I'm 
in  something  of  a  hurry.  We'll  have  a  turn  round 
the  Common." 

The  two  young  figures  moved  briskly  off  together 
in  the  soft  April  dusk.  Tom  was  about  half  a  head 
the  taller  —  hardly  more  than  a  year  the  senior. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  shabby  dress  of  the  younger 
which  accented  the  contrast  between  them  ;  for  while 
Tom  Draycott  was  a  gentleman,  and  showed  unmis- 
takably the  habits  of  his  life  in  look  .and  bearing, 
Dake  Cramley  carried  his  shoulders  erect,  and  was  by 
no  means  a  clown  in  person  or  gait. 

The  next  few  minutes  Tom  had  the  talk  all  to 
himself.  He  related  the  morning's  interview  with 
the  head  of  the  great  paper  manufacturing  firm, 
Meredith,  Max,  &  Co. 


68  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  There's  a  chance,"  he  continued,  "  you  may  get 
a  berth  in  their  big  warehouse  down  town.  You  are 
to  be  at  the  office  by  nine  o'clock,  prompt,  and  see 
what  can  be  done  about  it.  Of  course,  I  can't  prom- 
ise anything ;  but  you  will  be  in  luck  if  you  get  a 
foothold  in  that  concern."  Tom  added  the  name  of 
the  street,  and  the  office-number. 

Dake  drank  in  this  talk,  silent,  intent.  When  his 
turn  came  to  speak,  he  said  gravely,  — 

"  I  can  go,  —  of  course  I'll  do  that ;  but  when  your 
gentleman  comes  to  see  me,  there'll  be  mighty  small 
chance  of  my  gettin'  a  job." 

"•  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

Tom  stopped  short,  and  confronted  his  companion. 

"'Cause  a  feller  without  any  trainin'  can't  step 
right  into  a  new  place,  any  more  than  he  can  speak 
a  new  language  when  he  hears  it  for  the  first  time." 

Tom  mentally  admitted  the  force,  on  general  prin- 
ciples, of  this  comparison  ;  but  he  answered,  — 

"  Oh,  well,  in  this  case,  lack  of  training  won't  stand 
in  your  way.  What  they  want  is  a  smart,  sturdy 
fellow,  who  can  handle  things  lively,  and  make  him- 
self useful  in  the  packing-room." 

Dake  drew  a  long  breath,  his  face  brightened: 

"  I  reckon  I  can  handle  as  big  a  weight,  and  go  into 
the  work  as  lively,  as  the  next  feller,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  go  and  try  your  luck  to-morrow  morning." 

And  this  time  Dake  rejoined  with  more  spirit,  — 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  be  there." 


A  MEETING   ON   THE   MALL  69 

"And  now,"  continued.  Tom,  with  a  gravity 
becoming  a  judge  charging  the  jury,  "it  all  lies 
with  yourself.  If  you  get  a  chance  in  that  ware- 
house, and  go  at  the  work  with  a  will,  and  do  the 
square  thing,  you  can  make  life  another  affair  for 
yourself.  Is  there  stuff  in  you  to  do  this,  Dake 
Cramley  ? "' 

Tom  stopped  short  again,  looked  the  boy  in  the 
eyes,  a  real  anxiety,  touched  with  doubt,  in  his  own. 

Dake  squared  his  jaw  grimly. 

"  That  remains  for  a  fellow  to  prove,"  he  said. 
And  it  struck  Tom  there  was  more  hope  in  such  a 
reply  than  in  promises  and  adjectives  galore. 

"  One  thing  more,"  he  continued.  "  Nobody  knows 
a  syllable  about  —  things  which  have  passed  between 
us.  You  will  enter  on  your  new  field  with  as  clean 
a  record  as  anybody  there." 

A  glance  shot  from  Dake's  eyes  into  young  Dray- 
cott's. 

"  You're  mighty  good  !  I  —  I  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved there  was  anybody  could  be  like  that." 

The  words  seemed  to  get  a  little  tangled  in  the 
throat ;  but  the  glance  had  said  more  than  they  pos- 
sibly could. 

"There  comes  my  car!  I  must  get  aboard  for 
Cambridge,"  exclaimed  Tom,  looking  up  Tremont 
Street,  into  which  they  had  turned. 

The  two  shook  hands  and  parted. 

After  Tom  was  seated  in   his   car   he    wondered 


70  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

whether  Dake  had  money  enough  to  get  him  a  supper 
that  night. 

"  The  silver  I  gave  him  ought  to  have  carried  him 
over  two  days,"  he  mused.  "  Not  at  Young's  or  Par- 
ker's, of  course,  but  at  some  of  the  lunch-counters  he 
must  be  familiar  with.  Perhaps  he  needs  a  lesson  in 
economy.  If  that  is  the  case,  it  won't  hurt  him  to  go 
to  bed  without  his  supper.'' 

But  though  Tom  thought  it  rather  manly  to  affect 
this  indifference,  his  heart  was  all  the  time  pleading 
for  his  late  comrade.  He  would  have  felt  easier  could 
he  have  been  assured  Dake  Cramley  would  have  a 
square  meal  before  he  set  out  for  the  warehouse  next 
morning. 

A  message  came  from  Meredith  before  Tom  started 
that  morning  for  Cambridge. 

"  Fellow  appeared  on  time.  Evidently  hard  up. 
Put  him  through  a  brief  catechism.  Looks  as  though 
he  might  be  capable.  Not  absolute  about  the  morale. 
Made  up  my  mind  to  give  him  a  chance.  Sent  him 
down  to  the  warehouse  to  prove  his  mettle." 

Tom  replaced  the  tube,  saying  to  himself :  — 

"  Meredith's  staccato  goes  to  the  point.  He's  done 
the  handsome  thing.  Bless  his  kind  old  heart. 
Now,  Dake  Cramley,  you  must  run  the  course,  and 
good  luck  to  you  !  " 


WHEN    SHE    WAS    LITTLE   NABBY   WAKE          71 


IX 

WHEN   SHE    WAS    LITTLE   NABBY   WARE 

DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT  had  all  a  girl's  interest  and 
curiosity  about  her  brother's  college  life.  It  was  a 
point  with  her  to  have  a  bijb  of  crimson  often  in  evi- 
dence on  ribbon  or  scarf,  at  waist  or  throat.  Tom's 
stories  of  his  classmates,  of  the  varied  clubs,  the  soci- 
eties, the  football  and  rowing  teams,  and  all  the  light 
and  shade  of  Sophomore-life,  opened  a  new  world  to 
her.  She  drank  in  with  radiant  eyes  and  breathless 
peals  of  laughter  Tom's  reports  of  the  frolics,  contre- 
temps, and  adventures,  which  form  so  large  a  part  of 
undergraduate  existence. 

This  was  a  theme  on  which  so  thorough-going  and 
loyal  a  Harvardian  as  Tom  Draycott  was  sure  to  ex- 
pand; and  it  was  more  agreeable  than  he  would  have 
admitted,  to  have  such  an  eager,  interested  auditor 
whenever  he  sought  her  room  with  a  batch  of  his 
college  stories. 

Dorothy  knew  the  names  of  most  of  his  classmates; 
and  with  his  rapid,  salient  adjectives  Tom  outlined 
the  character  of  the  young  men  with  whom  his  life 
was  at  this  time  in  touch.  No  doubt  these  bold, 
swift  strokes  had  something  of  the  incompleteness 


72  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

and  injustice  of  epigram;  but  Tom's  instinct  often 
went  straight  as  an  arrow  to  the  mark. 

Dorothy  certainly  never  thought  of  questioning  his 
judgment  in  these  matters,  and  accepted  his  verdict 
as  final,  when  he  spoke  of  one  classmate  as  a  prig, 
another  as  a  cad,  a  rattler,  or  a  crank ;  but  these 
adjectives  seemed  neutral-tinted  in  comparison  with 
"  sneak  and  coward,"  or  "  a  nature  coarse-grained 
and  poltroonish  under  a  thin  varnish  of  good 
manners." 

Those,  however,  who  went  to  the  wall  under  this 
rapid,  remorseless  criticism  were  happily  a  very  small 
minority.  For  the  majority  of  his  classmates  Tom 
had  only  words  of  praise.  The  Sophomores  of  that 
year,  he  assured  his  sister,  were,  as  a  whole,  the  jol- 
liest,  best-hearted,  noblest  lot  of  fellows  on  the 
planet.  He  rang  the  changes  now,  with  glowing 
adjectives,  for  those  pink-flushed  little  ears  which 
were  eagerly  drirlking  in  every  word.  One  fellow 
had  "lots  of  sand,"  another  was  "  the  soul  of  honor," 
a  third  was  "  a  glorious  comrade  for  a  lark,"  a  fourth 
was  "  the  grandest  old  Soph  that  ever  drew  breath  — 
stuff  that  would  march  right  up  into  the  cannon's 
mouth  without  flinching  a  hair." 

A  third  presence,  always  eagerly  welcomed,  often 
joined  the  young  people  at  evening.  Mrs.  Dayles 
had  an  unfailing  sympathy  with  youthful  ideas  and 
feelings,  and  she  carried  a  cheer}'-,  bracing  atmos- 
phere with  her  wherever  she  \ve?it.  Her  orthoepy 


WHEN   SHE    WAS   LITTLE   NABBY    WARE          73 

and  grammar  were  sometimes  old-fashioned ;  but 
these  were  so  much  a  part  of  herself,  and  of  the 
wise,  tender,  quaint  talk,  that  the  most  fastidious  lis- 
tener could  have  wanted  nothing  changed.  The 
young  Draycotts  still  called  her  Nanty  Dayles. 
The  homely  name  was  to  them  full  of  dear,  childish 
associations.  It  had  originated  with  Dorothy,  when, 
just  over  her  fifth  birthday,  she  went,  with  big  eyes 
in  a  face  still  pale  from  her  long  struggle  with 
whooping-cough,  to  the  bracing  air  of  the  Belmont 
farmstead. 

There  was  a  subtle  appropriateness  in  Dorothy's 
half  playful,  half  affectionate  title.  It  became  natu- 
ralized, even  with  the  elders. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Dayles  entered  the  library.  The 
quiet  mother- face  under  its  smooth  gray  hair,  the 
small  upright  figure  in  its  gown  of  black  silk  —  plain 
almost  as  a  nun's  — made  a  quaint  picture,  suggestive 
of  old-fashioned  home  life  and  virtues. 

Tom  had  just  been  relating  some  story  to  his  sister, 
full  of  rollicking  Sophomore  fun  and  adventures,  and 
rib-splitting  contretemps. 

"  O  Nanty  Dayles ! "  the  girl  exclaimed  on  catching 
a  glimpse  of  the  figure  at  the  threshold,  "  you  must 
get  Tom  to  tell  this  story  over  again.  It  is 
the  funniest  thing.  I  have  almost  died  for  laugh- 
ing—  Hark!"  in  a  changed  tone.  "What  is  that 
noise?" 

"•  It's  thunder,"  responded  Tom  after  a  moment's 


74  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

attention.  "  Hurra !  That  shows  old  Spring  is 
coining  tip  this  way  at  last." 

"  Old !  "  echoed  Dorothy.  "  She  is  the  youngest 
thing  in  the  world,  and  always  will  be." 

"  But  for  all  that  she  is  aeons  older  than  Methusa- 
leh,"  retorted  Tom. 

At  that  moment  a  swift  shower  of  April  rain 
dashed  at  the  window.  Forked  lightning  flashed  in 
the  sky.  The  thunder  rattled  overhead,  and  winds 
broke  like  wild  things  from  their  lair,  and  filled  the 
air  with  fierce  cries. 

Then  Dorothy  cried  out,  "Tom,  your  story  must 
wait.  When  lightnings  glare  and  winds  howl  like 
that,  one  wants  something  on  a  different  key." 

"  I  cave  !  "  he  answered*  "  Nanty  Dayles,  one  of 
your  stories  is  worth  lots  of  my  nonsense.  Let's 
have  it ! " 

"  What  sort  of  a  story  do  you  want,  children  ?  " 

"  Something  about  yourself ;  at  least,  one  where  you 
are  the  child  actor  in  the  drama,"  answered  Dorothy. 

"  By  all  means,"  added  Tom.  "  But  I  notice  that 
is  the  sort  you  usually  fight  shy  of." 

Mrs.  Dayles  seated  herself  in  the  great  arm-chair 
Tom  had  brought  to  her,  and  laughed  her  quiet, 
amused  laugh.  Then  she  said,  half  to  herself :  — 

"That  was  an  April  day,  too,  with  a  thunder- 
shower." 

"Oh,  it  must  be  something  delightfully  apropos  I  " 
cried  Dorothy,  supplying  all  ellipses. 


WHEN    SHE   WAS   LITTLE   NABBY   WARE          75 

"  Go  right  ahead,  Nanty,"  said  Tom,  stretching  his 
long  limbs  on  the  lounge.  "  Is  it  tragedy  or 
comedy?  " 

"  You  must  decide  for  yourself,  my  dear  boy." 

This  was  the  story  which  Mrs.  Dayles  told  that 
night,  while  her  audience  of  two  no  longer"  heard  the 
rattling  of  thunder,  or  the  menacing  cries  of  winds 
outside. 

"I  was  just  eleven  years  old  when  it  happened. 
Most  people  said  I  was  small  for  my  age.  My  father 
and  mother  had  gone  to  New  York  for  a  fortnight's 
visit,  and  left  me  with  my  aunt,  Jerushy  Thacher, 
who  lived  in  a  village  twenty  miles  away  from  my 
home.  She  was  my  father's  only  sister,  a  widow, 
with  one  son.  Dan  was  a  shy,  big,  clumsy,  good- 
hearted  fellow,  about  five  years  older  than  I. 

"  It  was  my  first  visit  from  home.  Aunt  Jerushy 
and  Dan  were  doing  their  best  to  spoil  me,  praisin' 
me  to  my  face,  and  repeatin'  my  speeches  in  a  way 
that  was  likely  to  turn  a  little  'leven-year-old  head. 

"  One  afternoon  my  aunt  went  off  with  Dan  to 
the  nearest  town  to  do  some  shoppin'.  It  had  been 
one  of  the  loveliest  mornin's,  and  I'd  been  out  hearin' 
the  robins  sing,  and  watchin'  the  apple-blossoms 
beginnin'  to  sprinkle  the  scraggy  old  boughs  with 
their  white  and  pink  snow. 

"  Before  they  started  my  aunt  had  told  me  they 
should  be  gone  until  night,  and  talked  of  sending  for 
a  neighbor's  girl  to  keep  me  company.  But  I  begged 


76  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

to  be  left  alone.  A  story-book  from  New  York  had 
come  to  me  the  night  before.  That  would  be  com- 
pany enough.  Story-books,  you  know,  weren't  as 
common  in  my  days  as  they  are  in  yours. 

"  I  stood  and  watched  the  two  drive  down  the  road 
in  the  sunshine,  and  afterwards  I  lay  down  on  the 
lounge  and  was  soon  buried  in  my  book.  I  must 
have  read  a  good  while.  When  I  stopped  at  last  it 
had  grown  dark,  and  winds  were  lashin'  the  rose- 
bushes outside,  and  by  the  time  I  got  up  the  rain 
was  dashin'  at  the  windows.  All  of  a  sudden  there 
was  a  blaze  of  lightnin'  round  the  room,  and  the 
thunder  cracked  overhead. 

"  I  was  old  enough  to  know  it  was  only  an  April 
shower  which  had  swept  down  suddenly ;  but  I  had 
a  lonesome  time  all  by  myself,  and  I  tried  to  shut  my 
eyes  when  the  lightnin'  glared,  and  my  ears  when 
the  thunder  crashed. 

"  All  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  cry  through  the  tem- 
pest. My  heart  sprang  into  my  throat.  I  knew  it 
was  a  voice  of  distress  just  outside  the  door.  I 
shivered  and  sat  still.  Then  I  heard  it  a  second 
time.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  sprang  up, 
rushed  to  the  front  door,  and  set  it  wide  open. 

"  A  boy  —  a  small,  scared,  shrinkin'  creature  — 
stood  there,  drenched  with  rain,  sobbin'  with  fright. 
I  knew  him  with  a  glance.  He  was  little  Joe  Morris, 
a  pale,  yellow-haired  child  who  lived  a  short  distance 
up  the  road.  His  aunt  and  uncle,  well-meanin'  folks, 


WHEN    SHE   WAS    LITTLE   NABBY   WARE  77 

as  the  world  goes,  had  taken  Joe  to  their  home  ; 
but  they  had  a  brood  of  their  own,  and  the  neighbors 
said  the  little  orphan  had  a  hard  time  of  it. 

"  He  was  a  pretty  child,  hardly  six  years  old ;  but 
there  was  a  kind  of  pitiful  look  in  his  dark,  hazel 
eyes  which  told  its  own  story.  They  grudged  Joe 
his  place  under  the  home-roof ;  he  was  not  welcome 
at  its  board. 

"My  aunt  Jerushy,  one  of  the  kindest  souls 
alive,  had  done  what  she  could  to  brighten  his 
hard  lot.  The  little  feet  soon  found  their  way  to 
her  doorstep.  Joe  was  always  sure  of  a  kind  word, 
and  the  big  slice  of  pie  or  cake  which  lifts  a  child 
into  a  seventh  heaven  for  the  time. 

"  '  O  Joe ! '  I  cried,  pullin'  him  out  of  the  rain, 
4  how  did  you  get  here  in  this  awful  storm  ?  ' 

"  '  I  was  all  alone,'  he  sobbed.  '  They've  gone 
away  and  left  me.  I  was  scared  when  it  grew  so 
dark,  and  the  big  lightnin'  shone  and  tlie  thunder 
roared,  and  I  ran  off  to  Mis'  Thacher's.' 

44 1  can  see  him  now,  standin'  there  and  sayin'  this, 
and  lookin'  so  forlorn  and  helpless  in  his  thin  clothes, 
which  his  small  blue  limbs  had  outgrown ! 

"I  had  heard  his  story  from  my  aunt,  who  had 
been  his  mother's  dearest  friend  in  their  girlhood. 

"  '  To  think  of  Anna  Hart's  boy  comin'  to  that ! ' 
aunt  Jerushy  would  say,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 
'  She  had  such  a  sweet  face,  and  was  such  a  bright, 
merry  girl.  It  did  one  good  to  see  her.  She  threw 


78  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

herself  away  on  Dick  Morris.  He  had  a  tongue  that 
was  likely  to  win  any  woman.  I  went  to  the 
weddin' ;  but  for  all  the  bride  looked  so  fair  and 
happy,  and  her  lover  so  strong  and  manly,  I  had 
my  own  rnisgivin's. 

"  'They  went  away,  and  in  less  than  two  years 
rumors  of  trouble  came  back  to  Anna's  old  home. 
After  a  long  time  she  came  too,  with  Joe.  No  word 
of  complaint  ever  passed  her  lips,  but  those  who 
looked  in  her  face  knew  that  a  broken  heart  lay 
under  it.  She  died  in  a  little  while.  Joe  had  no 
kin  left  but  his  mother's  only  brother.  He  wasn't 
like  Anna,  and  had  a  family  of  his  own.  When  it 
came  to  the  pinch,  they  took  the  boy  in,  but  it  went 
ag'inst  the  grain.' 

"  All  this  I  had  learnt  from  my  aunt's  talk.  I  had 
learnt  somethin'  else  too. 

"One  day  a  handsome  carriage,  with  a  smart  pair  of 
sorrel  horses,  went  by  while  my  aunt  was  at  the 
window. 

"  '  There  goes  Wallace  Keith,'  she  said.  '  How 
spick  and  span  we  are  now  !  Fifteen  years  ago,  when 
lie  went  out  West,  he  had  barely  money  to  pay  his 
fare.  And  he's  come  back  a  rich  man,  and  can  hold 
his  head  high  amongst  those  who  once  looked  down 
on  him.  He  was  Anna  Hart's  cousin,  and  would 
have  liked  to  be  somethin'  more.' 

"  '  Did  you  know  him  ?  '  Dan  asked. 

" '  A  little,  when  he  used  to  come  to  see  Anna.     He 


WHEN    SHE   WAS    LITTLE   NABBY   WAKE  79 

married  after  he  went  West ;  but  his  wife  died  in  a 
few  years,  and  for  all  his  big  fortune,  he  hasn't  chick 
or  child  in  the  world.  I  should  like  to  put  a  flea  in 
that  man's  ear.' 

" '  Why,  mother,  what  do  you  mean  ? '  Dan  ex- 
claimed. 

" '  I  mean,  Dan,  if  I  knew  him  better  I  should  like 
to  tell  him  about  little  Joe.  If  that  rich  man  would 
only  adopt  him,  now  !  But  such  things  don't  hap- 
pen, only  in  the  story  books  ! ' 

"  I  brought  Joe  into  the  house,  took  off  his  wet 
jacket,  pinned  a  shawl  about  him,  for  the  little  frame 
was  shiverin',  and  I  comforted  him  with  apples  and 
cakes. 

" '  It's  so  nice  here  ! '  lie  said,  lookin'  around  the 
room  wistfully.  'I  wish  I  could  live  here  always.' 

"  My  heart  ached  for  him  as  he  said  that.  Then 
my  aunt's  talk  flashed  into  my  mind.  I  remembered 
I  had  seen  the  handsome  carriage  and  the  sorrel 
horses  go  by  just  after  aunt  Jerushy  and  Dan  went 
away. 

"  Then  somethin'  spoke  out  loud  and  sudden, 
though  I  couldn't  tell  where  it  came  from.  * 

"But  I  knew  all  the  same  what  it  meant. 

"  '  Why  don't  you  do  it,  Nabby  Ware  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  never  could  !  '  I  said  to  myself,  shrinkin' 
all  over.  '  I  shouldn't  dare.  He's  such  a  big,  strong 
man,  and  I'm  only  a  'leven-year-old  girl ! ' 

" '  But  there's  little  Joe  ! '  the  voice  said.     It  kept 


80  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

sayin'  that,  and  I  kept  sayin'  to  myself,  'I  never 
could,  —  I  never  could,  if  it  was  to  save  my  life  ! ' 

"  But  suddenly  I  glanced  up  the  road,  and  saw  the 
sorrel  span  comin'  at  a  smart  pace,  the  big  horses 
archin'  their  necks  and  tossin'  their  manes.  I  don't 
know  to  this  day  how  I  did  it.  It  was  all  over  in  a 
flash.  I  seized  Joe,  bundled  him  up  in  my  aunt's 
red  shawl,  and  ran  with  him  down  to  the  gate.  The 
horses  were  passin'  at  the  moment,  but  I  shouted 
with  all  my  might,  — 

"  '  Oh,  won't  you  please  to  stop  here,  sir  ? ' 

"The  man,  all  alone  on  the  front  seat,  pulled  the 
reins  up.  He  stared  at  me  as  though  I  must  be  an 
elf  sprung  right  out  of  the  ground. 

" '  Well,  what  is  it  you  want  ?  '  he  asked  rather 
sharply.  He  was  a  large,  good-lookin'  man,  with  a 
thick,  brown-grayish  beard,  and  eyes  that  looked  as 
though  they  could  read  anybody  through  and 
through. 

"  By  this  time  I  was  out  in  the  road.  I  pulled  Joe 
forward ;  I  said  the  words  which  came  first,  and  all 
the  time,  it  seemed  somebody  else  who  was  speaking. 

"  '  It's  little  Joe  Morris.  His  father  and  mother's 
dead,  and  they  don't  treat  him  kind  at  his  uncle's, 
where  he  lives.  I  thought —  I  thought '  -  - 1  couldn't 
get  out  another  word. 

"  The  man  kept  staring  on,  first  at  me,  then  at  Joe. 

" '  Well,  let  us  know  what  you  did  think,'  he 
said,  in  a  little  more  encouragin'  tone. 


WHEN    SHE    WAS    LITTLE   NABBY    WARE  81 

" '  Oh,  sir,  they  say  you're  such  a  rich  man,  and  can 
do  anything  you  want !  I  thought  may  be  if  you 
could  see  Joe  and  know  about  him,  you'd  be  sorry, 
and  take  him  to  be  your  boy,  and  live  with  you.' 

" '  Well,  upon  my  word,  you  are  a  cool  young 
woman  ! '  he  said,  in  another  tone  this  time,  and  he 
laughed  a  curious  little  laugh. 

"  '  No  ! '  I  said;  '  I'm  not  cool  at  all,  and  I'm  scairet 
a' most  out  of  my  senses ;  but  it  was  Joe's  only 
chance,  you  see  ! ' 

" '  Well,  I'm  not  goin'  to  eat  -you  up.  This  is 
bigger  fun  than  chasm'  bear,'  he  said  to  himself. 
'  Who  may  you  be,  little  girl  ?  ' 

"I'm  Nabby  Ware,  'leven  years  old,  and  I  live  at 
Cherry  Forks,  and  my  father  has  gone  to  New  York 
with  my  mother,  and  I'm  visitin'  my  aunt,  Jerushy 
Thacher.' 

"  '  Is  Joe,  here,  any  relation  of  yours?' 

"  '  Oh,  no,  sir ;  but  he  lives  down  the  road,  and  I 
know  all  about  him.' 

" '  Anybody  tell  you  to  speak  to  me  like  this  ?  ' 

"  '  Nobody  did.'  After  that  I  went  on  to  tell  him 
how  my  aunt  had  gone  away  with  Dan,  and  left  me 
alone,  and  how  Joe  came  a-cryin'  in  the  rain.' 

"  '  This  beats  anything  hollow  in  the  way  of  simple, 
downright  pluck  I  ever  heard  of ! '  he  said  to  himself, 
and  then  he  laughed  loud  again.  '  You've  got  an 
honest  little  face  too.  But  how  did  you  come  to 
know  any  thing  about  me  ?  ' 


82  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENIEEN" 

" '  I  heard  my  aunt  Jerushy  talk  about  you.  She 
said  you  knew  Joe's  mother — that  she  was  your 
cousin.' 

"'She  did,  eh?'  A  change  came  into  his  face 
and  voice  then.  '  What  was  her  name  ?  ' 

"  4  It  was  Anna  Hart.' 

" '  Great  heavens  !  Anna  Hart's  boy ! '  He  leaned 
over  now,  and  stared  a  long  while  at  Joe,  who  was 
standin'  still  all  the  time,  as  a  little  statue,  his  yellow 
curls  shinin'  above  the  red  shawl. 

"  '  Yes ;  there  is  no  doubt,  you  are  your  mother's 
boy,  with  those  eyes,'  he  muttered  at  last. 

"  I  was  so  shaken  and  excited  that  I  spoke  out 
whatever  thoughts  came  uppermost. 

" '  Aunt  Jerushy  said  you  would  have  liked  to  be 
somethin'  more  than  Anna  Hart's  cousin ;  but  I 
don't  know  what  she  meant.  Perhaps  you  do.' 

" 4  Yes,  /  do ! '  He  gazed  at  me  with  a  queer, 
amused  look  in  his  eyes,  and  he  asked,  in  a  minute, 
4  Little  girl,  what  first  started  you  to  do  this  thing, 
anyhow  ? ' 

" '  It  all  came  to  me  in  a  flash  when  Joe  and  I  were 
together  in  the  house.  I  said  ever  so  many  times  I 
couldn't  do  it ;  but  when  I  saw  your  horses  comin'  up 
the  road,  somethin'  told  me  to  try,  and  I  jest  took 
Joe  and  started.  I  thought  if  you  could  see  him, 
and  I  could  tell  you,  you'd  be  sorry  for  him,  and  God 
could  do  the  rest  if  he  was  a  mind  to.  Oh,  yes  !  I 
did  think  of  one  thing  more.' 


WHEN    SHE    WAS    LITTLE   NABBY   WARE          83 

"  '  What  was  that  ?  ' 

"  '  That  when  you  come  to  see  your  cousin  again, 
you  might  like  to  say  to  her,  "  I  was  kind  to  Joe."  ' 
"  He  didn't  say  anything  for  a  minute  then. 
"  Afterward  he  took  us  both  into  the  carriage,  and 

O     7 

we  had  a  long  drive  off  on  the  quiet,  country  roads. 
I  was  bareheaded,  and  Joe  was  bundled  up  in  his 
shawl,  but  we  didn't  mind.  The  sun  had  come  out 
again,  and  all  the  young  green  was  ashinin'  and 
twinklm'  in  the  rain. 

"  Soon  after  we  started,  the  thing  I  had  just  done 
came  up  before  me.  It  seemed  like  something  awful 
—  unheard  of  —  that  it  would  cling  to  me  all  my  life  ! 
I  broke  out  into  a  loud,  helpless  sobbing.  I  couldn't 
have  held  it  back  to  save  my  life.  I  never  had  cried 
so  long  and  so  hard  before. 

"  The  big,  brown-bearded  man  was  very  kind.  He 
drew  his  arm  around  me,  and  told  me  there  was  noth- 
in'  to  cry  about.  I  had  been  the  bravest  little  girl 
he  ever  heard  of. 

"When  I  grew  calm  at  last,  he  asked  a  great  many 
questions,  all  about  Joe  and  myself.  I  can't  remem- 
ber them  now. 

"  But  I  do  remember  how  the  man,  Wallace  Keith, 
at  last  turned  to  Joe,  who  was  on  the  back  seat,  and 
said  to  him,  — 

" '  Well,  Joe,  I  fancy  I  can  make  things  a  little  pleas- 
anter  for  you  than  they  are  at  present.  What  do  you 
say  ?  Are  you  ready  to  go  off  with  me  and  try  it  ? ' 


84  "SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  Joe  had  been  sliy  and  afraid  of  the  big  stranger ; 
but  when  he  spoke  in  that  tone,  and  smiled  in  a 
way  that  lit  up  his  square,  brown  face,  Joe,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  clambered  over  to  him  on  the  front 
seat. 

"  '  I  should  like  to  go  with  you,'  he  piped  up  ;  and 
he  put  his  thin  little  hand  in  the  man's  big  one,  and 
laid  the  round  yellow  head  on  the  big  shoulder.  Joe 
was  a  pretty  child.  I  can  see  it  all  now." 

The  tears  were  in  Mrs.  Dayle's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  don't  stop  yet !  "  broke  in  Dorothy.  "  There 
must  be  more  to  tell." 

"  Not  very  much,  my  dear. 

"  The  man  said  he  must  leave  town  the  next 
day.  He  made  me  promise  not  to  mention  a  syllable 
to  anybody  of  what  had  occurred  until  my  father 
returned. 

" '  I  can  trust  you,  Nabby,'  he  said ;  and  then  he 
bent  down  and  kissed  me. 

"  He  brought  me  home,  and  he  and  Joe  drove 
away  together.  I  never  saw  either  again." 

"But  you  heard  something?"  said  Dorothy  in. 
sistently. 

"  Yes  ;  there  was  a  long  interview  between  Wallace 
Keith  and  Joe's  uncle  that  night.  What  passed 
between  them  was  never  known ;  but  it  was  believed 
there  had  been  high  words  and  angry  reproaches  for 
the  scant  kindness  the  dead  sister's  child  had  met 
with  at  his  uncle's  hands. 


WHEN   SHE    WAS    LITTLE   NABBY    WARE          85 

"  The  two  men  were  not  likely  to  love  each  other. 
People  said  Anna  Hart  would  have  married  her 
cousin,  had  it  not  been  for  her  brother's  interference. 

"  But  the  uncle  consented  to  relinquish  all  claim 
to  Joe.  The  next  day  he  went  away  with  his  new 
friend. 

"  After  a  while  there  came  letters  from  California 
to  my  father  and  me.  Joe  had  gone  there  early  in 
the  fifties  with  Wallace  Keith,  who  had  adopted  him. 

"  The  two  were  devoted  to  each  other.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  man  could  not  praise  and  thank  me 
enough  for  what  I  had  done  that  day. 

"Joe  grew  up  to  manhood,  and  when  the  war 
broke  out  he  led  a  regiment  to  the  battlefield.  He 
died  there  at  the  head  of  his  men. 

"  His  adopted  father,  they  said,  was  never  quite  the 
same  man  after  the  news  came.  He  was  often  heard 
to  say  he  wanted  to  see  once  more  the  little  girl  who 
brought  him  Joe.  At  last  he  set  out  for  the  East. 
On  the  way  he  stopped  to  visit  a  minin'-camp.  He 
caught  a  fever  there,  and  never  reached  his  journey's 
end.  He  was  an  old  man  by  that  time." 

"  Was  he  a  rich  one  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  he  left  no  will.  The  money  all 
went  to  distant  relatives." 

"  You  should  have  had  a  big  slice  of  it." 

"  It  wasn't  for  money  I  seized  Joe  that  afternoon, 
and  hurried  down  to  the  gate  with  him,  and  shouted 
to  the  man  to  stop.  I  never  felt  any  hankerin'  for 


86  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Wallace  Keith's  riches.  I've  always  felt  I  had  more 
than  I  deserved  of  this  world's  goods;  and  it  was 
enough  for  me  to  know  that  he  and  Joe  had  all  those 
happy  years  together." 

"It  beats  anything  in  the  way  of  juvenile  pluck  I 
ever  heard  of  !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  A  little  slip  of  a 
girl !  It  was  grand !  It  was  immense  —  the  way  you 
faced  that  old  fellow  with  Joe." 

"  It  never  seemed  quite  as  though  /  did  it,  Tom. 
Something  carried  me  out  of  myself." 

"I  shall  always  be  glad  to  know  such  a  splendid 
deed  took  place  once  in  the  world  !  "  subjoined  Dor- 
othy. "  It  makes  me  feel  so  small.  I  have  never 
done  anything  like  that,  though  I  am  an  old  thing  of 
seventeen ! " 

She  drew  a  long,  remorseful  sigh. 

Mrs.  Dayles  looked  at  her  with  a  half  tender,  half 
amused  expression. 

"  The  chances  for  helpin'  people  are  always  corn- 
in'  up,  my  dear.  One  never  gets  too  old  for  them." 

She  did  not  tell  the  girl,  as  most  women  would, 
that  she  was  very  young.  She  knew  Dorothy  felt 
older  at  that  moment,  under  her  scant  handful  of 
birthdays,  than  she  probably  would  when  they  had 
grown  to  seventy.  Then  she  would  know  what  a 
brief  affair  life  was. 

"  Look  here !  "  called  Tom,  who  had  taken  himself 
to  the  window.  "  You  can't  afford  to  lose  such  a 
piece  of  sky-scenery  as  this." 


WHEN    SHE   WAS    LITTLE   NABBY    WARE          87 

The  others  crossed  to  the  window,  and  saw  in  the 
upper  sky  two  long  reaches  of  shining  gray  cloud, 
edged  with  black.  Between  these  was  a  wide  gulf  of 
sapphire  sky  in  which  shone  the  solemn,  immutable 
stars. 


"  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 


X 

GENTLEMAN   OR   SNOB  —  WHICH  ? 

DURING  these  days,  what  with  lectures,  clubs, 
foot-ball  games,  the  opening  of  the  rowing  season, 
private  theatricals,  and  all  sorts  of  social  and  college 
matters  which  devour  the  time  and  absorb  the  soul 
of  tljje  Harvard  Sophomore,  Tom  did  not  not  find 
a  half-hour  to  spare  for  Dake  Cramley.  He  thought 
of  him  often  —  had  the  best  intentions  of  running 
over  to  the  warehouse  of  Meredith,  Max,  &  Co.,  to 
see  how  he  liked  the  place,  and  was  getting  on  with 
the  new  work.  It  must  be  an  enormous  change  for 
him,  Tom  reflected.  He  had,  however,  only  a  faint 
idea  of  all  which  the  novel  environment,  the  rigid 
hours,  the  long  days  of  toil,  must  mean  to  Dake 
Cramley,  with  the  roving,  vagrant  habits  which  had 
become  second  nature,  and  with  the  young  hot  blood 
of  youth  in  his  veins  certain  to  rebel,  and  clamor  for 
the  old  freedom  and  vagabondage. 

One  morning  Tom  Draycott,  rushing  to  board  a 
Harvard  electric  on  Tremont  Street,  ran  against 
Mr.  Meredith.  After  the  first  greeting  Tom  began 
eagerly,  — 

"  I  suppose  you  received  my   note    of   thanks  for 


GENTLEMAN    OH    SNOB  —  WHICH?  89 

giving  young  Cramley  a  berth  in  your  warehouse. 
How  is  he  getting  on?  I  hope  he  faces  the  music 
pluckily.  There  is  a  case  where  I  feel  a  huge 
responsibility." 

"  I  got  your  note,  Tom.  Very  fair  report  from  the 
warehouse.  Fellow,  thus  far,  goes  into  the  work  like 
one  who  doesn't  mean  to  shirk." 

Tom's  face  showed  his  gratification.  "  Glad  to 
hear  so  good  an  account.  He  must  congratulate 
himself  on  such  good  luck." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Tom,"  with  the  shrewd, 
quiet  smile  which  spoke  volumes  for  his  large  experi- 
ence with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 

"  I  should  suppose  there  could  be  but  one  question 
in  his  case,"  added  Tom,  with  the  positiveness  of 
youth  and  inexperience. 

"  It  would  seem  so  —  on  the  surface.  But  I  have 
found  the  fellows  who  come  up  from  the  slums  don't 
take  kindly  to  the  regular  hours  and  steady  work. 
It's  natural  they  should  kick  at  first.  Many  of  them 
do  always  and  clear  out  at  last,  going  back  to  the 
old  free,  vagabond  life,  even  if  it  does  mean  rags, 
hardship,  and  hunger." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  something  in  all  that." 

Tom's  remark  was  partly  in  deference  to  tire 
other's  opinion ;  still  there  were  certain  corpuscles  in 
his  own  fiery  young  blood  which  made  him  conscious 
at  that  moment  of  a  flash  of  fellow-feeling  with  the 
vagabond. 


90  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

Then  the  two  lifted  their  hats  and  went  their 
different  w&y s. 

Three  days  after  this  conversation  Tom  Draycott 
and  Dake  Craraley  had  a  meeting  which  neither  of 
them  will  ever  forget. 

Tom  was  on  -Beacon  Street  early  in  the  afternoon 
with  one  of  his  classmates.  The  two  tall,  athletic 
young  Sophomores,  in  their  well-fitting  summer  suits, 
came  rapidly  on  with  the  swinging  stride  and  the 
air  of  those  who  feel  that  the  world  belongs  to  them. 
They  were  full  of  loud  talk  and  frequent  bursts  of 
laughter;  they  were  discussing  the  new  crews  and 
the  base-ball  teams,  and  relating  with  infinite  gusto 
some  of  the  club  jests,  and  certain  tricks  which  their 
class  had  recently  played  on  the  Freshmen. 

Tom's  gaze  suddenly  caught  a  figure  approaching 
which  had  a  familiar  look.  The  next  instant  he  rec- 
ognized Dake  Cramley — the  stalwart  build,  the  dark 
head,  the  coat  so  shabby  as  to  just  escape  raggedness. 
Tom  saw  that  Dake  had  recognized  him  by  the  little 
involuntary  start  and  slight  slackening  of  his  gait. 
All  the  differences  in  their  lot,  all  the  gulf  between 
their  happy,  careless,  prosperous  youth,  their  cul- 
ture, refinement,  leisure,  and  this  other  youth  of 
poverty,  hardship,  ignorance,  toil,  seemed  cruelly 
accented. 

Tom  was  conscious  of  a  wish  that  Dake  Cramley 
had  not  turned  up  at  this  precise  juncture.  Then  all 
that  was  generous  and  manly  in  his  nature  rose  to 
rebuke  the  cowardly  wish. 


GENTLEMAN    OR   SNOB  —  WHICH?  91 

"You  will  be  the  meanest  sneak,  the  most  con- 
temptible snob,  who  walks  this  planet,  if  you  don't 
stand  to  your  guns  now,  Thomas  Draycott !  " 

He  said  it  with  a  little  more  fervor,  perhaps,  be- 
cause young  Fallowes  was  inclined  to  be  fastidious  in 
his  tastes  and  associations.  A  few  more  years,  a  lit- 
tle rougher  handling  of  the  world,  would  correct 
all  that.  But  Tom  was  himself  too  young  to  know 
this. 

Meantime,  the  crucial  moment  had  come.  Dake 
had  drawn  near. 

Tom  sprang  forward.  "  Hullo,  Dake  !  "  his  voice 
rang  out  heartily.  "  Glad  to  see  you  once  more. 
How  does  the  work  go?" 

Young  Fallowes  had  halted  too.  His  quiet,  well- 
bred  glance  went  over  the  whole  exterior  —  the  big 
figure,  the  tanned  face,  the  threadbare  clothes. 

Dake's  face  brightened  as  he  shook  hands  with 
young  Draycott.  But  he  was  shy  in  the  presence  of 
that  "  swell  "  classmate.  Moreover,  he  was  decidedly 
conscious  of  the  difference  between  their  coats  and 
his  own. 

"  Work  goes  on  all  right,"  he  managed  to  get  out. 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  it  must  be  a  good  deal  of  a 
grind  at  first,"  Tom  said  sympathetically.  Then  a 
sudden,  defiant  impulse,  which  quite  dominated  any 
sense  of  humor  in  the  situation,  came  over  him.  He 
turned  to  young  Fallowes,  and  said  with  a  little  un- 
necessary empressment,  — 


92  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  Allow  me  to  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Dake  Cram- 
ley,  to  you,  Mr.  Philip  Fallowes." 

The  young  man  whom  his  classmates  pronounced 
"  a  bit  dudish,  though  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,"  was 
equal  to  tha  situation ;  he  lifted  his  hat  in  his  most 
pronounced  fashion  ;  he  made  his  most  elegant  bow. 

"  Happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Dake  Cramley,"  he  said. 

Dake  responded  with  a  quick  nod  and  a  rather 
curt,  — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Fallowes." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  Tom,  with  some- 
thing in  his  eyes  which  no  word  or  deed  had  ever 
kindled  in  them  before. 

But  Fallowes  did  not  catch  the  glance. 

Tom  had  a  few  more  words  to  add — half  apolo- 
getic —  about  the  breathless  pace  at  which  he  had 
been  kept  going  during  these  last  days,  and  of  his 
intention  to  see  Dake  before  the  week  was  out. 

There  was  a  brief  silence  after  the  two  resumed 
their  walk.  Then  Fallowes  said,  half  serious,  half 
jesting,  — 

"  Where  did  you  get  hold  of  such  a  pal,  Draycott  ? 
He  strikes  me  as  a  good  deal  of  a  bummer ! " 

Tom  stopped  short.  There  was  a  steely  glitter  in 
his  eyes. 

"  See  here,  Fallowes,"  he  said,  "  I  called  that  fellow 
my  friend,  and,  by  Jove,  I'll  stand  by  it  too  !  If  you 
are  going  to  make  game  of  him,  we'll  have  a  trial  of 
fists  when  we  get  over  the  bridge." 


GENTLEMAN   OR    SNOB  —  WHICH?  93 

Fallowes  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  So  you  want  to 
prove  your  principles  by  giving  me  a  high-and-mighty 
drubbing,  do  you?  I  don't  ache  for  it.  Besides  I'm 
not  such  a  fool  as  to  go  in  on  such  infinitely  small 
provocation  —  not  much !  Can't  you  take  a  joke, 
Draycott  ?  " 

Tom  laughed  too,  but  with  the  feeling  that  Fal- 
lowes had  rather  got  the  better  of  him. 

When  the  car  was  crossing  the  bridge,  however, 
Fallowes  turned  to  his  classmate  and  said  earnestly,  — 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Draycott.  I  like  the  kind 
that  nails  his  colors  to  the  mast  and  stands  by  them. 
There's  my  hand  on  it." 


94  "SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN 


XI 

CONCERNING  DAKE  CRAMLEY. 

THE  day  but  one  following-  the  brief  encounter  on 
Beacon  Street,  Tom  Drayeott  presented  himself  at 
the  office  of  Meredith,  Max,  &  Co. 

Tom  had  chosen  the  early  morning  again  for  his 
visit.  The  senior  partner,  recently  arrived,  nodded 
to  his  young  friend,  disposed  of  two  or  three  callers 
as  soon  as  possible,  saying,  as  he  shook  hands  with 
young  Drayeott,  — 

"What  is  in  the  wind  this  time,  Tom?  Anything 
about  your  protSge  f  " 

"Yes;  with  a  vengeance!"  going  straight  to  the 
point,  which  was  sure  to  count  with  a  man  of  Mere- 
dith's business  methods.  "  My  special  errand  here 
this  morning  is  to  inform  you  that  I  am  bound  to  see 
Duke  Cramley  indued  in  a  decent  suit  of  clothes. 
Of  course,  I  could  settle  the  matter  in  short  order  by 
sending  him  some  of  my  own  ;  but  that  is  not  the 
best  way  to  keep  up  his  self-respect.  You  agree  with 
me  there?  " 

"  Entirely,  my  sapient  young  friend  ! "  with  an 
amused  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  which,  a  moment  later, 
was  reflected  in  Tom's. 


CONCERNING  DAKE  CRAMLEY         95 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  continued  gravely  a  moment  later, 
"  I  saw  him  down  town  day  before  yesterday,  and  I 
never  want  to  see  him  again  in  that  shabby  old  tog- 
gery. The  poor  fellow  was  evidently  ashamed  of  it. 
I  tried  to  put  myself  in  his  place.  It  wasn't  pleasant." 

"  Probably  not.  But  nothing  serves  so  well  as 
bringing  a  case  of  this  sort  home  to  ourselves.  What 
is  the  outcome  with  you  ?  " 

"  That  Cramley  is  going  to  have  a  bran  new  suit, 
all-fired  quick,  and  that  I  shall  pay  for  it,  only  I 
want  you  to  help  me  out  with  details." 

"How?" 

"  Give  him  a  little  higher  wages.  Of  course  my 
young  man  isn't  to  suspect  my  hand  in  the  matter, 
but  I  will  stand  the  racket." 

The  elder  man  gave  an  amused  whistle. 

"  That  is  a  novel  way  for  the  house  of  Meredith, 
Max,  &  Co.  to  conduct  business." 

Tom  flushed  a  little.  "  No  doubt ;  but  it  seemed 
the  only  feasible  plan  I  could  hit  on." 

"  It  strikes  me  I  can  suggest  a  better  one.  The 
reports  from  the  warehouse  are  so  favorable  as  to  the 
vim  with  which  the  fellow  puts  himself  into  the  work, 
that  I  had  about  decided  to  raise  his  wages  —  a  trifle. 
"  I  can  do  this  by  sending  him  to  a  wholesale  house, 
with  a  note  which  will  secure  him  a  suit  in  a  trice,  at 
a  discount.  I  will  settle  the  bill,  and  retain  the  extra 
wages  until  all  is  paid  up.  We  have  tried  that  plan 
more  than  once  with  our  workmen.  It  has  served 


90  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

well,  and  it  has  the  advantage  of  being  all  above- 
board.  Your  young  man  will  pay  for  his  clothes 
instead  of  believing  he  is  doing  so." 

"I  see.  Your  project  is  the  best.  Thank  you 
heartily,  Mr.  Meredith." 

During  this  talk  several  people  had  come  in,  wait- 
ing their  chance  for  an  audience.  Tom  became  con- 
scious of  their  vicinity  for  the  first  time. 

As  he  rose  to  leave,  the  elder  added,  "  I  will  see 
the  young  man  to-day  about  the  matter." 

"  I  shall  always  regard  this  as  a  personal  favor," 
the  younger  replied. 

As  Richard  Meredith  turned  toward  the  small 
crowd  awaiting  him,  he  said  to  himself,  — 

"  Donald  Draycott  is  a  lucky  fellow  to  have  a  boy 
like  that!" 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  the  young  Draycotts 
sat  together  on  the  deep  circular  porch  at  the  west 
side  of  the  house.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had 
done  this  since  the  autumn ;  but  last  year  seemed  now 
a  long  way  off  to  the  young  people,  as  they  looked  at 
it  across  the  white  winter  months. 

The  crocuses  and  hyacinths  were  abloom  on  the 
terraces.  The  trees  were  beginning  to  open  out  their 
vast  screens — the  delicate  reds  of  budding  maples, 
the  faint,  misty  emerald  of  elms  and  birches. 

The  great  springtide  was  rapidly  advancing  north-, 
ward.  In  a  little  while  the  vast  rejoicing  flood  of 
bursting:  leaves  and  blossoms  would  overflow  all  the 


CONCERNING   DAKE   CUAMLEY  97 

silence  and  bareness.  One  might  almost  hear  a  pres- 
cient whisper  in  the  air  of  that  April  night.  The 
summer  was  coining ! 

"  O  Tom,  what  a  delicious  night  it  is  !  "  exclaimed 
Dorothy,  with  little  elastic  springs  of  the  slender, 
girlish  body,  as  .she  sat  in  the  piazza-rocker.  "  How 
beautiful  and  solemn  the  stars  look !  There  go  the 
frogs  again !  One  wants  to  live  in  such  a  world 
forever." 

Tom  was  stroking  Hidalgo's  head  as  the  superb 
creature  waited  at  his  side.  He  thought  of  Dake 
Cramley  at  that  moment. 

"  One  might  like  to  live  forever,  if  one  belonged 
to  the  fortunate  minority,"  he  replied.  "  But  even 
then  one  must  grow  old  sometime ;  and  with  youth 
and  health  and  friends  gone,  it  might  get  awfully 
humdrum  at  last." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Dorothy.  To  her  youth's  radiant 
horizons,  to  her  bounding  pulses,  growing  old  seemed 
just  then  a  very  remote  thing.  "  But  whom  do  you 
mean  by  'fortunate  people,'  Tom?' 

"  Well,  such  people  as  you  and  I,  Dollikins,  with 
all  the  prizes  fallen  to  our  share  —  home  and  love 
and  ease,  and  the  money  to  make  things  run  smoothly. 
Out  in  the  rough  of  things,  the  toilers  and  moilers 
must  find  the  world  a  very  different  sort  of  place,  I 
fancy." 

Dorothy  thought  of  her  little  kindergarteners  in 
Boston.  She  had  a  class  at  which  she,  with  some 


98  "sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

other  young  girls,  took  her  turn  twice  a  week.  She 
tried  to  do  her  best  with  the  small  untrained  crea- 
tures; but  she  had  no  idea  how  much,  or  in  what 
ways,  they  were  doing  for  her. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  we  are  what  you  call  us,  Tom," 
she  assented.  "  I  suppose,  too,  we  don't  realize  our 
own  good  fortune.  We  get  used  to  it,  as  we  do  to 
the  air  or  the  sunshine." 

Then,  in  a  kind  of  subconscious  way,  she  felt  it  was 
not  just  like  her  careless,  teasing  brother  to  talk  in 
this  fashion.  She  had  no  suspicion  that  he  too  was 
having  some  lessons  in  these  days  —  not  set  down 
in  the  Harvard  curriculum. 

The  April  was  in  Dorothy's  blood,  in  her 
thoughts,  to-night.  She  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
dwell  long  on  any  serious  subject. 

"  Tom,"  she  broke  out  suddenly,  after  a  little  si- 
lence. "  Who  was  that  young  fellow  with  you  this 
afternoon  when  you  bowed  to  me,  as  I  was  going 
down  North  Avenue  in  the  car?" 

"  That  was  Phil  Fallowes." 

"  He  struck  me  as  —  very  nice  looking." 

"  The  Sophs  think  he  is  slightly  dudish.  But 
there's  manly  stuff  at  bottom.  When  it  comes  to 
looks  —  of  course  a  girl  thinks  of  that  first — he  can 
hold  his  own  with  any  fellow  in  the  class.  We  had  a 
long  tramp  in  the  woods  to-day.  Capital  fellow  for  a 
lark !  He  can  pull  a  good  oar,  too,  and  make  a  sandy 
fieht  at  foot-ball.  But  he  doesn't  flunk  at  recitations." 


CONCERNING   DAKE   CHAMLEY  99 

"  I  was  going  over  with  your  classmates  the  other 
day,  one  by  one,  as  you  had  described  them  to  me." 

"  Big  lot.     Hope  you  had  a  good  time  of  it !  " 

"I'm  not  sure  about  that.  But  it  struck  me  I 
should  like  Phil  Fallowes,  as  you  call  him,  better 
than  any  of  your  Sophs." 

Tom  hummed  some  snatch  of  a  college  song  medi- 
tatively. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  have  missed  the  mark  far  this 
time." 


100       "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XII 

A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION 

Two  or  three  evenings  later,  Tom  Draycott  turned 
at  twilight  from  Beacon  Street  into  the  Common, 
shooting  a  swift  glance  down  the  line  of  figures 
which  occupied  the  benches  on  one  side  of  the  mall. 

Tom  had  rushed  into  the  warehouse  the  day  before, 
but  Cramley  happened  to  be  out  at  the  time.  He 
found  on  his  return  that  his  friend  had  left  a  line 
with  one  of  the  men,  appointing  an  interview  for  the 
following  evening. 

Tom  noticed  a  figure  spring  from  one  of  the 
benches  and  approach  him.  He  did  not  recognize 
the  stranger  until  he  was  close  at  hand. 

Dake  Cramley  was  indued  in  a  simple,  perfectly- 
fitting,  brand-new  summer  suit  of  darkish  gray,  sur- 
mounted by  a  fresh  cap.  His  necktie,  linen,  and 
boots  were  new  also,  Dake  having  managed  to  secure 
these  by  the  exercise  of  rigidest  economy  for  the 
last  month.  But  the  transformation  was  immense. 
Tom  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes.  Dake  was  fully 
alive  to  the  change.  It  struck  Tom  that  the  new 
clothes  had  imparted  an  air  of  self-respect,  as  though 
their  wearer  had  a  feeling  that  he  belonged  now  to 


A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION    101 

the  respectable,  well-dressed  classes,  and  had  shed 
something  more  than  his  old  garments  when  he  cast 
them  aside. 

"  Why,  man  alive,  I  didn't  know  you  !  "  exclaimed 
Tom,  surveying  his  friend  from  head  to  foot.  "How 
bully  we  look  in  our  new  toggery !  " 

Dake  laughed  in  a  hearty,  boyish  way  which  Tom 
had  never  heard  him  do  before  ;  but  he  was  a  good 
deal  embarrassed.  Words  always  came  slowly  with 
the  youth  until  he  once  got  fairly  started,  and  forgot 
himself. 

"  Let's  have  a  walk,"  exclaimed  Tom,  who  always 
took  the  initiative,  "  and  have  all  the  ins  and  outs  of 
this  coat  and  trousers  revolution." 

The  pair  started  off  together,  and  with  the  swing 
and  stride  of  young,  healthy  muscles  held  their  way 
along  Beacon  Street. 

A  few  tactful  questions  drew  out  all  the  details. 
Dake's  tongue  once  loosened,  there  was  no  lack  of 
words.  Tom  .learned  that  Meredith,  when  he  ap- 
peared at  the  warehouse  a  few  days  before,  had  sent 
for  "that  new  boy,"  and  when  he  presented  himself 
had  said  some  encouraging  words  and  proposed  to 
make  a  slight  advance  in  his  salary,  on  a  plan  which 
he  sometimes  adopted  with  his  employees. 

"  It  was  a  maxim  with  him,"  the  head  and  mana- 
ging brains  of  the  great  house  stated,  "  that  a  man 
who  did  his  best  deserved  a  new  suit  of  clothes  with 
no  unnecessary  delay."  Then  Duke,  listening  in 


102  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

dumb,  awkward  amazement,  learned  by  what  means 
he  was  to  secure  the  much-coveted  new  suit  that 
very  day. 

The  rest  was  settled  with  the  business  man's  exec- 
utive promptness.  Furnished  with  a  line  to  the 
great  clothing-house,  Dake  had  no  difficulty  in  secur- 
ing all  he  wanted. 

"Well,  I  am  satisfied  there  is  more  in  fresh,  well- 
fitting  broadcloth  than  I  ever  imagined,"  was  Tom's 
first  comment,  when  Dake  ceased.  "  Why,  Cramley, 
it  has  made  another  fellow  of  you." 

There  was  a  twinkle  of  amusement,  with  a  good 
deal  of  some  complex  feeling,  in  Dake's  eyes. 

"  I  know  it's  made  me  feel  like  one,"  he  said. 

The  two  had  to-night  the  longest  walk  they  had 
yet  taken  together.  Probably  neither  could  tell  to- 
day just  how  it  came  about,  but  on  this  occasion 
Tom  drew  out  of  his  companion  some  further  ac- 
count of  his  childhood. 

Dake's  father  had  been  a  sailor  —  so  young  Dray- 
cott  learned  —  who  had  died  at  sea,  before  his  son 
could  remember  him.  Things  had  gone  from  bad  to 
worse  with  the  widow,  until  at  last  she  turned  to 
whiskey  as  her  one  solace  in  poverty  and  hardship. 
When  she  was  herself  she  was  tearful  and  remorse- 
ful, seeking  to  atone  by  kindness  for  past  neglect  or 
worse  things.  But  as  time  went  on  the  bondage  of 
habit  grew  stronger,  until  soul  and  body  were  utterly 
demoralized.  A  besotted  condition  alternated  with 


A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION    103 

a  frenzied  one  in  almost  regular  sequence.  It 
was  a  wonder  the  boy  managed  to  pull  through 
those  early  years  of  squalor,  starvation,  and  cruel 
beatings. 

Kind  people  sometimes  visited  the  mother  and  son 
in  their  attic,  and  showed  an  interest  in  the  boy.  In 
one  of  his  mother's  sober  moments  she  had  been 
persuaded  to  send  her  son  to  a  child's  kindergarten 
in  the  neighborhood.  Afterwards  he  took  his  turn 
in  the  public  schools,  where  he  learned  to  read  and 
write,  and  something  of  arithmetic  and  geography. 
Then  his  mother  found  one  sort  or  another  of  em- 
ployment for  her  small  boy,  and  squandered  his 
scant  wages  on  her  drams. 

When  he  was  a  little  past  thirteen,  she  had  a  fall 
in  one  of  her  sprees,  and  took  to  her  bed.  She  never 
rose  from  it. 

Her  death  was  probably  a  blessing  to  Dake.  He 
was  alone  in  the  world  now,  a  mere  child,  to  fight 
his  way  unaided,  by  dint  of  his  young  wits  and 
muscles.  It  was  greatly  to  his  credit  that  he  had 
come  up  from  the  misery  and  vice  of  such  a  child- 
hood and  boyhood  as  clean  and  wholesome  as  he 
seemed  in  mind  and  body  —  no  taint  in  his  blood, 
no  smirch  in  his  talk. 

This  struck  Tom,  who  made  a  tentative  inq'uiry  or 
two  in  that  direction. 

"  I  wonder,  Dake,  how  you  kept  clear  of  —  of — all 
the  worst  things." 


104  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  I  didn't  ketch  on  there  much,"  replied  Date, 
with  a  little  involuntary  movement  of  disgust.  "  Of 
course  I've  been  in  plenty  of  rows,  but  I  liked  to  run 
wild  too  well  to  risk  the  lockup.  When  it  came  to 
drink,  I'd  seen  too  much  of  that,  you  know.  I  did 
try  it,  once  or  twice,  with  some  cronies  ;  but  it  made 
me  horribly  sick,  and  I  swore  off,  as  I  did  after  I'd 
had  my  second  plug  of  tobaccer.  Maybe  it  was  my 
tramps  I  was  al'ays  hankerin'  for,  that  saved  me  from 
gamblin'  and  wuss." 

"It's  been  awfully  rough  on  you,  Dake,"  said 
Tom,  with  a  fresh  access  of  sympathy  and  respect  for 
his  companion.  "  While  you  were  talking  I  was 
wondering  whether  I  should  have  come  out  as  clean 
from  all  that  muck  and  mire.  But  you've  got  a 
chance  to  make  something  of  your  life  now  —  thank 
God  for  that !  " 

The  street-lamp  shone  full  on  Dake's  face.  A 
hard,  bitter,  resentful  look  crossed  it. 

"  Oh,  as  for  God,  I  don't  take  any  stock  in  him  — 
no,  siree  !  I'm  mighty  doubtful  whether  there  is  one. 
Anyhow,  he  ain't  been  inclined  to  do  the  fair  thing 
by  me." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Sceptical  talk  from 
the  standpoint  of  youth  and  inexperience  was  nothing 
novel  to  Tom  Draycott,  but  anything  of  precisely 
this  sort  had  never  come  in  his  way:  he  was  sure 
that  wrong  words  would  be  worse  than  none.  His 
rejoinder  at  last  had  little  of  his  young  absoluteness. 


A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION    105 

"No  doubt  in  your  case  I  should  feel  like  you, 
Dake,  but  —  there  is  something  more  to  be  said  on 
this  matter." 

"  It's  natural  you  should  think  that  way,  Mr.  Dray- 
cott.  I  might,  too,  if  I  stood  in  your  shoes." 

"  Oh,  confound  that  mister  !  From  this  moment 
it's  to  be  tabooed  between  you  and  me.  Do  you 
understand,  and  will  you  obey,  Dake  Cramley  ?  " 

"  There's  no  other  way  for  me,  you  know,  Dray- 
cott ! "  replied  Dake,  with  a  shy,  pleased  kind  of 
laugh. 

"  Well,  then,  that's  settled.  Now,  to  return  to 
our  talk.  It  doesn't  seem  the  square  thing  on  your 
side,  I  admit.  I've  been  a  lazy,  luxurious  rascal, 
with  all  the  prizes  for  my  share,  while  you've  faced 
the  hard  knocks  and  the  rough  weather.  There  it  is 
in  a  nutshell.  I  don't  pretend  to  fathom  it;  I  can't 
explain  any  more  than  you  what  it  means.  But 
there's  just  one  plank  to  cling  to  when  all  the  rest 
goes  to  wreck.  If  there  is  a  God  you  must  be  his 
child  as  much  as  I  am,  and  of  course  he  must  care 
for  you  too." 

"  Mighty  curi's  way  he's  taken  of  showin'  it," 
interpolated  Dake,  in  a  tone  balanced  between  scepti- 
cism and  indignation.  Tom  had  never  heard  any- 
thing like  that  from  him  before. 

"  It  does  look  so.  We  can't  shirk  facts.  But  you 
want  to  be  rock-sure  before  you  lay  this  big  heap  of 
trouble  at  God's  door  !  " 


106  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  And  where  else  is  a  fellow  to  lay  it  ? "  with  a 
kind  of  passionate  fierceness. 

"  That  might  take  hours  to  answer  ;  but  it  strikes 
me  a  good  many  people  and  circumstances  have  had 
a  hand  in  your  hard  lines.  Isn't  it  just  conceivable 
that  God  may  have  meant  well  by  you  from  the 
beginning  —  means  it  still  ?  Can't  we  give  him  the 
benefit  of  a  doubt?" 

The  words  came  to  Tom  Draycott  almost  as  though 
another  were  speaking  through  him.  He  had  not 
started  with  any  notion  of  getting  up  a  religious 
argument;  indeed,  his  own  ideas  and  opinions  on 
these  and  related  matters  were  in  a  state  of  more  or 
less  confusion  and  chaos  at  this  time.  But  he  was 
very  sorry  for  Dake,  and  his  heart  more  than  his 
brain  had  been  in  these  questions,  which  seemed  so 
simple  and  true  as  they  came  up  to  him. 

But  the  words  struck  to  live,  quivering  fibres  in  the 
soul  of  his  companion.  All  Dake's  past,  all  his 
childhood's  suffering  and  wretchedness,  all  the  old 
inarticulate  sense  of  some  mighty  Power  in  things, 
in  the  universe,  hostile,  malevolent,  vindictive,  which 
haunts  the  imagination  and  hardens  the  heart  of 
the  wronged  and  helpless,  rose  up  now  in  the  soul 
of  Dake  Cramley.  He  stood  still,  his  jaw  was  set, 
his  eyes  had  a  fierce  gleam. 

"  No !  "  The  negative  rang  out  charged  with 
passionate  feeling.  "  You  can't  show  me  a  peg  to 
hang  a  doubt  on.  If  everything's  been  ag'inst  me, 


A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION    107 

why  didn't  God  make  it  different  ?  Why  didn't  he 
give  me  a  chance  as  he  has  you?  " 

Challenged  in  this  way,  by  a  soul  stung  and 
goaded  by  its  long  sense  of  wrong  and  injustice, 
young  Draycott's  powers  of  argument  failed  him; 
but  his  heart  was  very  much  alive,  and  that  forced 
his  reply. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  no  man,  only  God  himself,  could 
answer  that  question,  and  he  will  take  his  own  time 
and  way  to  do  it." 

"  And  until  he  does  that  in  a  way  likely  to  convince 
me,  the  best  thing  I  can  do  for  him  is  to  believe  that 
he's  nothin',  nor  nowhere.  So  far  as  he's  concerned 
it's  all  a  big  sham,  anyhow." 

The  tones,  half  scoffing,  half  sneering,  suited  the 
words.  The  mouth,  where  the  fresh-sprouting  beard 
was  beginning  to  show  darkly,  wore  a  hard,  bitter 
expression.  The  boy  snapped  his  fingers  scornfully 
in  the  air. 

"I  suppose  we  might  go  on  arguing  until  the 
crack  of  doom,  and  it  would  do  no  good,"  subjoined 
Tom,  feeling  rather  helpless  and  defeated.  In  a 
moment,  however,  he  continued  with  a  fresh  access 
of  energy  and  decision  :  — 

"  But  as  for  God's  letting  you  go  to  the  dogs  and 
not  caring,  and  making  a  pampered  favorite  of  me 
—  I  don't  believe  it.  I  tell  you  Dake  Cramley,  in 
face  of  all  your  facts,  I  won't  believe  it.  That 
part  is  all  rot.  I  might  be  a  selfish  dog  enough  to 


108  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

make  the  most  of  my  own  share ;  but  what  could  I 
think  of  a  God  who  calls  himself  Father,  and  cares 
for  only  a  part  of  his  children  ?  " 

In  the  wavering  street-light,  it  seemed  to  Tom 
that  Dake's  face  softened  a  little. 

"  Besides,  he  did  try  to  start  you  \vell,  or  you 
wouldn't  -have  come  up  the  solid,  vigorous,  healthy 
fellow  who  stands  in  your  boots  to-night.  I  know 
things  got  into  a  bad  tangle  for  you  early ;  but  the 
world,  at  any  rate,  is  a  good  place.  You  must  own 
that,  when  you  remember  how  often  you've  got  out  of 
the  slums  which  God  didn't  make,  and  had  a  jolly 
day  in  the  woods  which  he  did.'''' 

Dake  laughed  here  a  short,  amused  laugh,  which 
showed  the  lessened  tension  of  his  feelings. 

"  I  won't  deny  the  jolly  days,  but  it  never  struck 
me  God  had  any  hand  in  them." 

"  There  again,  don't  you  see,  you  may  not  have 
been  quite  fair  to  him.  Then,  I  think  this  is  a 
glorious  old  night,  with  the  stars  up  there  in  the 
sky.  I'm  enjoying  it  for  my  part  hugely." 

"  Oh,  I  ketch  on  there,  Draycott !  "  responded  Dake 
fervently.  "  It  is  a  good  night,  the  best,  take  it  all 
together,  I  ever  had  in  my  life,  and  I  owe  it  to  you." 

"  Well,  then,  are  you  sure  — hang  it  all,  Dake  —  I 
am  not  much,  and  anyhow,  a  fellow  doesn't  want  to 
put  it  in  words ;  but  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

Dake  turned  eyes  alive  with  loyal  devotion  on  Tom 
Draycott. 


A  COAT  AND  TROUSERS  REVOLUTION    109 

"  If  I  thought  God  had  anything  to  do  with  bring- 
ing you  in  my  way,  I'd  think  lots  of  him  all  the  rest 
of  my  life  !  " 

Tom  tried  to  turn  it  off  lightly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  set  all  that  store  by 
me  ?  "  speaking  the  thing  which  came  uppermost. 

But  the  tide  which  swelled  now  in  Dake's  soul 
bore  down  all  his  shyness,  all  his  life-long  habit  of 
self -repression. 

"  Draycott,"  he  said,  his  voice  not  quite  steady, 
"  you've  been  the  best  thing  that  ever  came  to  me  in 
this  world,  better  than  anything  I  ever  dreamed  of. 
You  talk  about  God  —  if  he'd  been  as  good  to  me  as 
you  have,  there's  nothin'  in  the  world  he  could  want 
me  to  be  or  do  for  him,  that  I  wouldn't 4$ tand  up  all- 
fired  quick  and  say,  '  Here's  your  man  ! ' : 

Tom  Draycott  looked  at  the  youth  swinging  along 
by  his  side,  and  he  had  a  curious,  half  awesome  feel- 
ing that,  in  some  faint  shadowy  way,  he  had  come 
nearer  to  representing  God's  love  and  pity  to  Dake 
Cramley  than  anything  else  in  the  world  —  he, 
Tom  Draycott ! 

By  this  time  it  had  grown  quite  late.  The  two 
had  walked  far  out  on  Beacon  Street,  and  when  they 
turned  at  last  and  retraced  their  steps,  they  only 
broke  the  silence  occasionally  with  some  ordinary 
remark. 

Sometimes  a  policeman  glanced  at  the  two,  but 
there  was  nothing  now  in  Dake's  dress  or  appear- 


110  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

ance  which  set  the  other  to  wondering  how  the  pair 
could  be  chums. 

As  they  drew  near  the  bridge,  Tom  saw  the  Har- 
vard car.  They  wrung  each  other's  hands  and  parted. 
But  Dake  stood  motionless,  watching  the  car  bearing 
away  the  only  friend  he  had  on  earth,  until  it  had 
quite  disappeared. 

There  was  only  a  handful  of  people  inside.  Tom 
shot  a  glance  over  them,  and  was  relieved  to  find 
they  did  not  include  any  of  his  classmates.  He  was 
in  no  mood  for  the  usual  Sophomore  talk  and  hilar- 
ity. He  threw  himself  into  a  corner,  and  he  said  to 
himself :  — 

"  You  are  the  most  colossal  hypocrite  on  this 
planet,  Tom  Draycott!  Talking  religion  to  that 
poor  fellow,  in  a  way  which  would  have  done  credit 
to  some  cut-and-dried  old  Puritan !  What  would 
Dorothy  think!  What  a  stupendous  joke  it  would 
all  be  to  your  classmates  !  Are  you  the  most  arrant 
humbug  in  the  world,  and  has  it  cropped  out  to- 
night for  the  first  time  ?  " 

But  though  young  Draycott  was  thoroughly  honest 
when  he  berated  himself  in  this  fashion,  he  could  not 
feel  a  twinge  of  remorse.  In  his  deepest  conscious- 
ness, he  knew  that  he  had  felt  every  word  which  he 
had  spoken  to  Dake  Cramley. 


KEYNOTES   AND  QUICKSANDS  111 


XIII 

KEYNOTES    AND  QUICKSANDS 

THE  weeks  wore  on.  The  skies  of  the  New  Eng- 
land May  deepened  into  sapphire,  and  the  fresh  ver- 
dure, a  great  emerald  sea,  swept  over  the  land. 
The  violets  unclosed  their  blue,  prayerful  eyes  in  the 
woods;  the  dandelions'  yellow  bravery  began  to  glit- 
ter in  the  grass  by  the  roadsides  ;  the  clean,  sweet 
scent  of  the  lilacs,  the  rich  honeyed  breath  of  the 
syringas,  mingled  in  the  air. 

The  year  seemed  to  take  up  all  things,  even 
human  hearts,  into  its  youth  and  gayety.  The 
earth  decked  all  its  brown  bareness  with  flower-bro- 
caded tapestries  to  greet  the  advancing  June. 

During  these  days  Tom  Draycott  and  Dake  Cram- 
ley  met  occasionally.  As  the  Sophomore  year  drew 
to  its  close,  the  former's  time  was  consumed  by  all 
sorts  of  college  matters.  Between  digging  for  ex- 
aminations, foot-ball  games,  rowing  matches,  bicycle 
races,  and  the  thousand  things  which  fire  the  Sopho- 
more heart  and  absorb  the  Sophomore  mind,  Tom 
found  it  difficult  to  command  an  hour  for  himself 
merely,  out  of  the  twenty-four.  He  insisted  to  the 
house-audience,  composed  of  Dorothy  and  Mrs. 


112  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

Dayles,  that  no  beast  of  burden  was  driven  and 
goaded  as  he  was,  and  that,  with  his  breathless  days 
and  nights,  the  flesh  was  actually  dropping  from  his 
bones. 

He  managed  in  this  way  to  elicit  considerable  sym- 
pathy, although  the  highly-colored  rhetoric  was,  of 
course,  received  with  due  grains  of  allowance. 

But  the  demands  on  young  Draycott's  time  were 
not,  at  this  period,  confined  to  the  college.  The 
young  people  in  the  vicinity  of  Red  Knolls  organ- 
ized all  sorts  of  spring  gatherings  and  merrymakings. 
Tableaus,  lawn  parties,  private  theatricals,  informal 
festivals,  followed  each  other  in  graceful  and  pictur- 
esque sequence, 

Tom  was  a  favorite  with  women  and  girls.  He 
was  considered  a  great  card  at  all  these  junketings. 
Some  robust  morale,  perhaps,  saved  his  head  from 
being  turned  by  the  flatteries.  He  had  beside,  at 
this  particular  phase  of  adolescence,  a  tolerant,  good- 
natured  indifference  to  all  youthful  femininity. 
Dorothy,  who  was  held  responsible  for  her  brother's 
presence  on  these  occasions,  found  her  task  no  sine- 
cure. Of  course,  she  confided  her  vexations  to  Mrs. 
Dayles,  when  the  pair  were  alone  together. 

"  Girls  without  brothers  have  no  idea  what  sisters 
with  them  have  to  undergo !  I  shiver  inwardly 
whenever  I  see  Tom  Draycott's  name  on  a  fresh  card 
of  invitation.  I  know  perfectly  what  that  means 
for  me.  He  is  sure  to  protest,  and  vow  off-hand  he 


KEYNOTES    AND   QUICKSANDS  113 

won't  stir  an  inch ;  and  then  such  a  time  as  I  have, 
coaxing  and  reasoning,  and  stroking  his  fur  the  right 
way,  and  holding  my  tongue  and  my  temper,  until  at 
last  he  goes  off  with  a  kind  of  grunt  which  I  take  for 
a  promise,  and  act  on  it  before  he  can  revoke  any- 
thing!" 

"  But  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  the  soft  elder 
voice,  "  he  is  at  his  wits'  end  just  at  this  time,  and 
we  must  make  allowance." 

"  Of  course  we  must,  Nanty  Dayles." 

Dorothy  waltzed  across  the  room,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling with  fun  and  laughter,  and  gave  the  elder 
woman  a  hearty,  girlish  hug.  "  As  though  I  envied 
the  girls  who  hadn't  brothers,  or  didn't  know  that 
Tom  was  the  most  aggravating,  mulish,  dearest,  best- 
hearted  fellow  in  the  world !  " 

During  this  time  of  high  pressure  and  multiform 
interests,  young  Draycott  did  not  forget  Dake  Cram- 
ley.  Tom  had  a  feeling  —  perhaps  only  half  analyzed 
—  that  he  held  to  that  youth  a  relation  which  he  did 
not  to  any  other  creature  in  the  universe. 

Tom  was  perfectly  aware,  too,  he  was  the  only  per- 
son whom  Dake  really  loved  —  absolutely  believed 
in.  He  had  seen  that  in  his  eyes  which  made  him 
certain  that  Dake  would,  on  occasion,  lay  down  his 
life  for  him.  Such  a  consciousness  cannot  fail  to 
touch  a  generous  nature,  and  you  must  have  discov- 
ered before  this  time  much  that  was  generous  and 
noble  in  Tom  Draycott's  make-up.  He  felt  largely 


114  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

responsible  for  Dake's  happiness  —  for  his  future; 
and  there  was  mingled  with  the  feeling  a  certain  un- 
conscious sense  of  gratitude  for  the  other's  worshipful 
affection.  The  thought  of  the  immense  contrast  be- 
tween his  real  self  and  Dake's  estimate  of  him  had  a 
wholesome  influence  on  the  natural  conceit  and  arro- 
gance of  youth.  Indeed,  Tom  Draycott  was  at  his 
best  -when  he  thought  of  Dake  Cramley,  or  was  with 
him. 

So,  despite  the  pace  which  he  held  at  this  time,  the 
young  man  managed  occasionally  to  "  sandwich  in  an 
hour  for  a  run  over  the  Charles  and  a  walk  with  Dake 
Cramley." 

Tom  was  struck,  as  their  acquaintance  grew,  by 
the  flashes  of  mother-wit,  by  the  odd  humor  and  the 
shrewd  observations  on  men  and  events,  which  he 
found  in  the  boy  so  late  emerged  from  the  slums. 
Plainly,  he  had  been  worth  saving. 

Tom  made  inquiries  about  his  friend's  lodgings, 
and  learned  that  these  were  satisfactory.  Meredith 
had  given  him  a  line  to  the  landlady,  which  had  se- 
cured his  admission  to  her  table,  and  a  small  one- 
windowed  attic  under  the  roof;  but  Dake's  previous 
habits  had  not  inclined  him  to  be  critical,  and  a 
prince  might  have  envied  his  slumber  on  the  small 
cot. 

Then,  Dake  Cramley  had  something  of  the  freshness 
and  interest  of  a  new  "  find  "  to  the  Harvard  under- 
graduate. What  a  fight  that  young  fellow  had  made 


KEYNOTES   AND   QUICKSANDS  115 

to  get  his  bit  of  standing-room  in  the  world  —  no  big, 
warm-sheltered,  soft-lined  place,  such  as  had  fallen  to 
the  share  of  Tom  Draycott  and  his  companions ! 

Dake  had  been  a  newsbo}^ ;  he  had  belonged  to  the 
snow-brigade ;  he  had  worked  on  the  coal-wharves 
and  on  the  railroad.  All  these  varied  occupations 
had  toughened  his  muscles  and  sharpened  his  wits, 
and  given  him  some  shrewd  insight  into  human  na- 
ture ;  indeed,  he  unconsciously  modified  some  of 
young  Draycott's  opinions  which,  with  his  nineteen 
years,  he  had  regarded  fixed  as  the  poles. 

There  was  no  obsequiousness  about  Dake.  This 
fact  often  struck  Tom.  The  boy  was  as  direct  and 
simple  with  his  friend  as  though  they  stood  on  the 
same  social  and  mental  plane. 

Of  course,  there  was  much  to  criticise  in  his  vernac- 
ular ;  but  Tom  was  never  revolted  by  a  vulgar  word 
or  idea.  Whatever  Dake  had  seen  or  heard  in  his 
old  life,  no  syllable  ever  crossed  his  lips  which  could 
not  have  been  repeated  in  the  presence  of  Tom's 
mother  or  sister.  He  sometimes  reflected  that  he 
could  not  have  said  as  much  for  all  his  classmates. 

Had  you  met  the  two  stalwart  youths  in  some  long 
golden  twilight,  striding  along  the  Common  or  the 
sidewalk,  absorbed  in  talk,  their  loud,  hearty  laughs 
ringing  occasionally  on  the  air,  you  might  have 
thought  them  the  merriest  of  chums  —  this  strangely 
assorted  pair  —  the  one  straight  from  the  halls  of  his 
Alma  Mater,  and  a  home  atmosphere  of  highest  refine- 


116  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

ment  and  culture,  with  the  habits  and  traditions  of 
his  ancestry  in  the  very  texture  of  his  being ;  while 
his  companion  had  been  "  bankrupted  from  his  birth," 
and  nurtured  amid  the  vice  and  misery  of  the  North 
End  slums. 

As  to  what  Dake  Cramley  thought  of  Tom  Dray- 
cott  —  but  I  shall  leave  him  to  speak  for  himself  a 
little  later. 


THE   QUIET    BEFORE   THE   STORM  117 


XIV 

THE  QUIET  BEFORE  THE  STORM 

THE  year  swept  on  triumphantly  into  June.  Amid 
the  dazzling  sunlight,  the  fragrant  air,  the  lavish 
bloom,  of  the  northern  summer,  the  days  drew  toward 
the  solstice. 

At  this  time  a  long  gap 'occurred  between  the 
meetings  of  the  young  Sophomore  and  the  ware- 
house hand.  This  was  inevitable.  Tom  was  "  over 
head  and  ears,"  as  he  described  the  rush  of  things 
about  him,  in  the  closing  days  of  his  Sophomore 
year. 

But  Tom  was  now  quite  at  ease  about  his  proteje 
—  believed  that  he  had  "secured  a  fine  berth  for  him, 
that  all  his  future  would  be  the  smoothest  kind  of 
sailing,  and  that  lie  would  come  out  a  grand  fellow, 
despite  early  drawbacks." 

Tom's  nineteen  years  had,  of  course,  afforded  him 
little  experience  of  human  nature,  beyond  his  own 
more  or  less  related  type.  He  was  soon  to  have  a 
new  lesson,  and  a  severe  one ;  he  was  to  find  himself 
brought  to  bay  by  the  mighty  forces  of  heredity, 
environment,  and  habit. 

One  day  toward  noon,  Tom,  after  a  rush  into  Bos- 


118  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

ton  on  some  errand,  found  himself  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  warehouse  of  Meredith,  Max,  &  Co.  He  made  a 
dash  for  it. 

Chagrined  to  learn  Dake  was  out,  he  seized  the 
opportunity  to  make  some  inquiries  of  a  head  work- 
man regarding  his  friend. 

"  He's  a  good  feller  enough,"  said  the  man,  star- 
ing at  Tom  curiously  from  under  his  bushy,  dusty 
eyebrows,  "  al'ays  on  hand  at  stroke  of  the  hour  — 
goes  into  the  work  with  reg'lar  vim." 

This  report  was  all  which  could  be  desired,  and 
yet  Tom  had  a  feeling  that  the  tone  or  manner  did 
not  quite  emphasize  the  words.  He  looked  at  the 
rugged,  honest  face  before  him.  Was  the  man  hold- 
ing something  back  ? 

"  That's  all  right  so  far  as  the  work  goes,"  said 
Tom  frankly.  "  But  I  set  great  store  by  that  fellow, 
and  I  should  like  to  hear  —  well  —  a  little  more  all- 
round  praise  of  him." 

The  workman  adjusted  the  paper  turban  on  his 
temples.  His  look  grew  slightly  more  confidential. 
"Nothin'  to  lay  a  finger  on,"  he  replied.  "  But  he 
seems  rather  an  odd  fish  when  all's  said.  Ready  to 
do  a  good  turn  when  it  comes  in  his  way ;  but  keeps 
a  close  mouth,  and  not  forrard  at  makin'  friends. 
Seems  rather  gruff  of  late,  and  goes  at  the  work  as 
though  he  was  fightin'  for  his  life.  The  way  he 
handles  a  heavy  load  has  made  me  afear'd,  sometimes, 
he'd  hurt  himself." 


THE  QTJIKT   BEFORE   THE   STORM  119 

"  And  that's  all  ?  "  interrogated  Tom,  a  good  deal 
relieved. 

"  That's  all,  sir.  Not  a  thing  against  him,  you  see, 
only  don't  inarch  jest  in  line  with  the  others." 

Tom  made  up  his  mind  that  Dake  did  not  find  it 
all  halcyon  at  the  warehouse.  He  reflected  that  he 
had  been  at  the  grind  two  months,  with  no  let  up. 

On  the  spur  of  the  moment  he  resolved  to  see 
Dake  the  following  evening,  though  that  involved  his 
sacrificing  a  concert  at  Sanders  Theatre. 

He  whipped  out  his  pad,  scribbled  a  few  lines  to 
Dake,  appointing  a  meeting  for  the  next  night. 

In  the  late  summer  dusk,  Tom  Draycott  turned 
into  the  Common.  He  glanced  at  the  west.  Vast 
heaps  of  bronze-colored  clouds  lay  there,  their  edges 
glowing  with  vivid  pink  and  fiery  gold. 

The  young  figure  in  its  gray  suit,  familiar  now, 
rose  from  a  bench  near  the  entrance  and  approached. 

"  Hullo,  Dake !  Awfully  glad  to  see  you.  Couldn't 
screw  out  a  minute  for  you  all  this  time.  Hard  lines 
for  a  fellow  just  now  at  Harvard." 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  old  hearty  tones. 
Dake's  eyes  had  not  worn  so  bright  a  look  for  a 
week. 

They  turned  together  out  of  the  Common.  If  Tom 
found  the  interval  long  since  their  last  meeting,  he 
little  suspected  what  slow-wearing  aeons  it  had 
seemed  to  his  comrade. 

As  they  drew  under  a  street-lamp,  Tom   bent  a 


120  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN'' 

sharp,  interrogative  glance  at  his  companion.  It 
struck  him  Dake  had  grown  rather  thin,  and  that  lie 
had  a  wearied,  half-sullen  look ;  but  the  light  glanced 
and  was  gone,  and  Tom  was  not  certain. 

"  Things  jolly  as  ever  at  the  warehouse  ?  "  he  asked 
tentatively. 

"  Nothin'  to  find  fault  with,"  replied  Dake  in  his 
most  staccato  style. 

"  This  sort  of  weather  must  be  rough  on  you  down 
there." 

"  Hot  as  blazes  to-day ;  but  I  don't  mind,"  sub- 
joined Dake. 

"  It  hasn't  been  cool  at  Cambridge.  Mercury  got 
into  the  nineties.  I  say,  they  ought  to  let  up  on  you 
fellows  through  the  dog-days." 

"  That's  what  they're  goin'  to  do." 

Dake's  voice  did  not  indicate  that  the  prospect 
afforded  him  much  pleasure. 

Neither  of  the  young  men  was  up  to  his  usual 
plane  of  talk.  Each  was  conscious  of  this  in  the 
other;  and  each  attributed  it  to  the  influences  of  the 
night,  which  were  singularly  close  and  depressing. 

Young  Draycott  was  fatigued  with  the  strain  of 
the  last  weeks,  and  in  no  mood  for  personal  inquisi- 
tion ;  while  Dake,  with  an  occasional  effort  to  keep 
up  his  share  in  the  conversation,  was  mostly  mono- 
syllabic. 

At  last  Tom  did  break  out  with  a  good  deal  of 
verve. 


THE   QUIET   BEFORE   THE   STORM  121 

"  I  see  how  it  is,  old  boy.  You  are  having  too 
hard  a  grind  just  now  ;  you  ought  to  let  up  steam  a 
little.  One  of  these  days  you  must  get  an  afternoon 
off,  and  well  have  a  tramp  in  Middlesex  Fells. 
Won't  that  be  jolly  ?" 

"Powerful,"  responded  Dake,  and  all  the  old  grate- 
ful devotion  was  in  the  glance  which  he  shot  up  at 
Tom  Draycott. 

It  went,  as  it  always  did,  to  some  secret  place, 
quick  and  warm,  in  the  other's  heart. 

"  You  see,  Dake,  I  sha'n't  let  you  slide  —  not  an 
inch,"  he  continued  earnestly,  "  though  at  this  par- 
ticular crisis  I  have  about  as  much  freedom  as  a 
hard-driven  dray-horse.  But  I  sha'n't  go  at  this  gait 
much  longer,  and  then  you  and  I  will  have  our 
turn." 

The  two  had  walked  to  the  Harvard  Bridge. 
Tom's  hour  was  up.  His  car  came  along.  He 
boarded  it,  shouting  back  to  Dake,  "  Keep  a  brave 
heart,  old  fellow !  if  any  trouble  turns  up,  I'll  see 
you  through." 

With  the  kind,  cheer}'-,  confident  voice  ringing  in 
his  ears  and  heart,  Dake  Cramley  stood  still  and 
watched  the  moving  car-light  until  it  grew  dim  and 
disappeared.  Afterward  he  turned  and  gazed  at  the 
steel-gray  waters  of  -the  Charles  as  they  tumbled  past 
him  under  the  stars  ;  he  set  his  jaw  hard,  and  there 
was  a  fierce  gleam  in  his  eyes.  The  water  seemed 
to  fascinate  him. 


122  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

At  last,  and  with  a  sudden  start,  and  hard-drawn 
breaths,  like  one  who  wakes  from  a  nightmare,  he 
turned  and  walked  swiftly  away  as  though  from-  some 
fear  that  pursued  and  haunted  him.  But  life  was 
quick  and  bounding  in  every  vein  of  Dake  Cramley's 
body.  The  temptation  was  over  for  that  time. 


A  JULY  NIGHT'S  CRISIS  123 


XV 

A  JULY  NIGHT'S  CRISIS 

THE  summer  solstice  had  passed. 

Class  Day,  with  all  its  gay  scenes,  its  crowds  and 
excitements,  its  reunions  and  partings,  was  over  now. 
The  old  college  buildings,  which  had  echoed  so  late 
to  the  loud  mirth  and  the  ringing  tread  of  young 
manhood  in  its  heyday  of  life  and  joy,  were  left  to 
silence  and  sunshine  for  the  rest  of  the  dog-days. 
The  only  sounds  now  were  the  summer  winds  dream- 
ing among  the  ancient  elm  boughs ;  the  fairest  sights 
now  were  the  long,  pensive  elm  shadows  stretching 
themselves  on  the  sward  over  which  joyous  groups, 
made  up  of  gallant  youths,  and  girlhood  in  its  loveli- 
est blossoming,  had  so  recently  loitered. 

Tom  Draycott  had  passed  through  the  dreaded 
"  exams "  with  credit  to  himself,  and  was  now  a 
Junior  —  a  fact  which  afforded  an  opportunity  for 
endless  quizzing  on  the  part  of  his  sister. 

It  was  sometime  in  early  July  before  he  saw  Dake 
Cramley  again.  After  several  days  of  fiery,  prostrat- 
ing heat,  which  had  scorched  the  air  and  parched  the 
land,  the  east  wind  blew  agaiiij  and  the  city,  which 
had  wilted  under  the  sultry  days  and  nights,  lay 


124  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

cooled  and  rejoicing  in  the  sweet  breath  from  the 
sea. 

All  Boston  which  had  not  rushed  to  the  shore  or 
the  mountains  was  out  that  night  drinking  in  the 
grateful  breeze. 

After  the  first  greeting  on  the  mall,  young  Dray- 
cott  had  a  prescient  instinct  that  all  was  not  well 
with  his  friend.  The  people  crowding  the  sidewalks 
would  interfere  with  conversation.  Tom  proposed 
they  should  turn  into  the  Public  Garden,  where,  after 
a  brief  search,  they  found  a  bench  to  themselves. 

As  they  crossed  a  shaft  of  light,  Tom  had  darted  a 
penetrating  glance  at  his  companion's  face.  There 
was  no  doubt  now  that  it  had  grown  thin,  and  some- 
thing had  gone  out  of  it,  out  of  the  boy's  gait  and 
tone  too. 

"  Well,"  Tom  began  in  the  old  familiar  way,  as 
soon  as  they  were  seated,  "  things  gone  smoothly  all 
this  time  when  I  couldn't  get  round  to  you?  " 

"  Nothin's  happened,  special,"  said  Dake  with  a 
glum  air ;  and  he  stared  down  at  his  boots. 

"We've  had  torrid  weather  enough  to  take  the 
heart  out  of  anything.  I  hope  they  haven't  kept  you 
at  the  grind  through  it." 

"  No ;  they  let  us  up  a  good  deal.  But  I  didn't 
mind ;  I'd  as  lief  keep  at  the  work." 

"  That's  plucky,  Dake."  Then,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' pause,  Tom  turned  suddenly,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  other's  knee.  "Something's  the  mat- 
ter," he  said.  "  Make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 


A  JULY  NIGHT'S  CRISIS  125 

Dake  turned  and  faced  his  companion  silently  for 
a  few  moments.  In  the  shadows,  Tom  could  not  see 
what  the  eyes  said ;  but  he  waited  rather  breath- 
lessly. 

At  last  the  words  came,  few,  but  straight  to  the 
point. 

"  Yes ;  something  has  happened.  I've  got  to  clear 
out,  Draycott !  " 

"  Clear  out !  " 

"  I've  got  to  leave  the  work  !  " 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  Dake  ?  " 

It  was  natural,  considering  the  past,  that  Tom's 
suspicions  should  point  in  one  direction.  Dake  saw 
what  this  question  meant.  He  did  not  resent  it. 
Indeed,  he  seemed  incapable  of  resenting  anything 
to-night. 

"No,"  he  said;  "it's  nothing  of  that  sort.  I've 
got  a  clean  record  at  the  warehouse.  They'll  tell 
you  so." 

He  spoke  now  with  an  energy  and  earnestness 
which  forced  conviction  on  his  hearer. 

"  Anybody  been  setting  on  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No ;  I've  no  complaint  to  make.  They've  al'ays 
treated  me  on  the  square." 

"  Ajid  nobody  wants  you  to  go?  " 

"No  reason  in  the  world  to  think  so." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Dake  Cramley,  that, 
for  no  cause  whatever,  you  intend  to  turn  your  back 
on  such  a  berth  —  cut  the  chance  of  your  life-time?" 


126  "  SIES,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

"  I  knew  you  couldn't  understand,  Draycott,"  the 
old  hopeless  tone  and  manner  reasserting  themselves, 
the  eyes  once  more  on  his  boots.  "  But  I've  got  to 
go.  I  should  have  done  that  weeks  ago,  as  soon  as 
the  clothes  was  fairly  paid  up  for,  but  I've  kept  on 
jest  to  see  you  once  more,  so  that  you'd  remember  I 
didn't  go  off  like  a  sneak,  without  telling  you." 

"  What  are  you  going  for,  Dake  ?  "  touched,  in 
spite  of  his  waxing  anger,  by  this  last  remark. 

"  I'm  goin'  because  I  can't  help  it,"  the  voice  broke 
out  now,  hoarse  and  a-quiver  with  passion.  "  I  can't 
stand  it  any  longer.  That  steady  grind,  day  after 
day,  week  after  week,  and  no  change,  is  more  than  I 
can  bear.  It  seems  as  though  I  should  go  mad  under 
it,  and  kill  myself,  or'somebody  else.  My  blood  gets 
ragin'.  I've  got  to  clear  out ! "  he  repeated  with  a 
dogged  air,  his  voice  thick  with  suppressed  passion. 
"I  tell  you  I've  got  to  clear  out!  " 

"  And  where  do  you  propose  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  shall  set  out  for  the  woods.  I  shall  prowl  round 
and  round  'em,  and  no  man  my  master.  I  know  now 
how  Avild  things  feel.  Of  course  you  can't  under- 
stand. You  was  brought  up  diff'rent.  But  it's  in 
my  blood  and  bones.  I  thought  I  could  stand  the 
pull ;  I  tried  to  —  honest,  I  did.  But  I  found  it  was 
too  much  for  me." 

"  And  so,"  Tom  rejoined  in  a  hard,  unsympathetic 
voice,  "  you  propose  to  run  off  now  from  the  best  luck 
that  ever  came  to  a  fellow  in  your  shoes  ;  you  pro- 


A  JULY  NIGHT'S  CRISIS  127 

pose  to  turn  your  back  on  every  friend  you've  got, 
on  your  one  chance  to  mount  the  ladder,  to  make 
an  honest  man  of  yourself ;  and  you  intend  to  do  all 
this  in  order  to  scour  the  woods,  to  turn  tramp  and 
vagabond  again,  to  be  homeless  and  starved  and 
ragged,  in  short,  to  go  back  to  the  devil  you  came 
from ! " 

"  I  knew  it  would  look  like  that  to  you,"  Dake  re- 
plied in  a  sullen,  despairing  tone.  "P'rhaps  I'd 
better  cleared  out  and  not  told  you." 

All  Tom's  faith  in  Dake  Cramley  went  to  pieces, 
or  seemed  to,  on  the  instant.  The  shock  was  so  sud- 
den, the  disappointment  so  bitter,  that  speech  did 
not  have  way  at  first  —  only  thoughts  that  stung  and 
rankled. 

"  What  a  head  and  crown  of  idiots  he  had  proved 
himself  —  he,  posing  for  a  philanthropist,  and  imagin- 
ing he  could  smooth  down  this  cub  of  the  slums  — 
this  creature  with  his  wild  beast  instincts  clamoring 
to  roam  the  woods  and  the  jungles  —  into  a  civilized, 
respectable  human  being !  A  fellow  who  had  done 
his  best  to  knock  him  down  and  rob  him  on  the  high- 
way too ! "  Tom  felt  he  himself  deserved  to  be  set 
in  the  stocks. 

Then  speech  had  its  turn.  It  was  not  long.  The 
voice  had  a  ring  of  hard,  scornful  irony ;  the  words 
came  from  a  white  heat  of  passion. 

"  As  it  appears,  you  are  deliberately  bound  to  go 
to  the  dogs,  I  suppose  nobody  can  help  you.  Per- 


128  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

haps  the  sooner  you  take  yourself  out  of  decent  peo- 
ple's way  the  better.  But  you  may  be  sure,  Dake 
Cramley,  I  have  had  my  lesson.  The  next  time  I 
keep  a  fellow  out  of  the  lockup  and  raise  him  from 
the  slums,  and  he  succeeds  in  playing  your  game  on 
me,  I  shall  be  older  than  I  am  now  — that  is  all !  " 

While  he  spoke  he  had  risen.     Dake  rose  also. 

"  I  ain't  anything  to  say  for  myself,  Draycott," 
he  began  in  a  slow,  husky  voice,  which  gradually 
cleared  and  deepened  with  intense  feeling.  "  It 
wouldn't  do  any  good,  but,  though  I  am  bound  to  go 
to  the  dogs,  as  you  say,  I  shall  al'ays  know  you 
wanted  to  save  me;  you  did  your  best  for  me;  you 
was  the  one  real  friend  I  had  in  the  world  !  " 

He  had  moved  a  little  while  he  spoke,  and  the  light 
struck  his  face.  One,  seeing  the  look  in  his  eyes 
as  lie  bent  them  on  Tom,  might  have  thought  of  a 
spirit  turning  away  from  the  threshold  of  heaven  into 
the  outer  darkness. 

Then  lie  too  turned  and  walked  rapidly  away. 
Tom  Draycott  stood  still.  He  had  heard  the  words  ; 
he  had  seen  the  look.  Both  had  gone  straight  as  an 
arrow  to  all  that  was  generous  and  noble  in  his 
young,  fiery  nature.  The  reaction  of  feeling  was 
swift,  immense.  A  great  rush  of  pity  swept  away 
the  wrath  which  had  worked  in  heart  and  brain. 
His  last  words  to  Dake  came  up  now,  and  seemed  to 
fill  the  air  with  their  stern,  pitiless  ultimatum. 
Could  he  let  the  boy  go  away  forever  with  that  look 


129 

in  his  eyes  ?  It  would  haunt  him  through  all  his 
future ! 

He  must  find  him  at  once.  Moments  were  pre- 
cious now.  If  he  lost  sight  of  him  to-night,  he  might 
never  see  him  again. 

Tom  rushed  out  of  the  Public  Garden. 


130  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN 


XVI 

THE   QUIET    AFTER   THE   STORM 

YOTJNG  Draycott  dashed  along  the  sidewalk  at  a 
speed  which  came  near  upsetting  some  of  the  saun- 
tering crowd.  He  did  riot  pause  to  apologize ;  he 
was  ready  to  face  armies  now  for  a  glimpse  of  that 
half-boyish  figure  with  the  strong,  erect  shoulders 
and  the  rapid  gait.  Tom  held  himself  steadily  along 
Tremont  Street,  glancing  up  the  thoroughfares  at 
right  angles.  He  was  not  at  all  certain  he  was  on 
the  right  track ;  he  had  no  definite  knowledge  of 
Pake's  lodgings.  It  was  quite  conceivable,  Tom 
reflected,  that,  wretched  and  desperate,  he  might  at 
once  set  out  for  the  country. 

Tom  had  kept  on  for  half  a  mile,  when  he  caught 
a  glimpse  some  distance  off  of  the  figure  he  was 
seeking.  The  crowds  masked  it  the  next  moment, 
but  Tom  dashed  over  the  curbstone  and  rushed 
toward  it. 

Dake  was  forging  ahead  from  mere  force  of  habit 
toward  his  boarding-place.  Whatever  plans  he  had 
formed,  he  was  plunged  in  too  deep  wretchedness  to 
attempt  carrying  them  out  that  night. 

A  sudden  imperative  touch  was  on  his  shoulder. 
He  started,  and  saw  Tom  Draycott. 


THE   QUIET   AFTER   THE   STORM  131 

"  Come  back,  Dake ! "  said  the  kindly,  resolute 
voice,  which  had  been  for  months  the  sweetest  sound 
in  the  world  to  the  other's  ears.  "  I've  had  a  hard 
race  for  you." 

Dake  faced  about  without  a  word,  but  the  next 
instant  he  staggered.  Tom  noticed  that,  and  slipped 
his  arm  in  the  other's.  They  went  back  to  their  old 
rendezvous  in  the  Public  Garden. 

All  young  Draycott's  will  was  in  arms  now  —  that 
strong,  defiant  will  of  youth,  which  believes  that  no 
obstacle  can  daunt  it,  no  hostility  vanquish  it,  no  fate 
compel  it. 

The  two  stood  still  under  the  elms.  The  lights  at 
their  feet  were  enmeshed  with  shadows.  The  winds 
drowsed  in  the  branches  overhead. 

Tom's  feeling  burst  into  eager  speech. 

"  You  mustn't  mind  what  I  said  just  now,  Dake. 
I  was  horribly  disappointed  and  angry,  and  it  all  had 
to  come  out  at  one  blast." 

"I  didn't  mind,"  rejoined  Dake  earnestly.  "I've 
been  sayin'  harder  things  of  myself  for  weeks  past." 

"  Well,"  continued  Tom  in  his  impetuous  fashion, 
"  the  thing  now  is  to  find  our  way  out  of  these 
woods.  I  sha'n't  give  you  up,  Dake  Cramley. 
That  fact  is  fixed  as  the  eternal  hills.  I  am  going  to 
keep  a  grip  on  you  like  grim  death !  " 

There  was  a  momentary  glimmer  of  amusement  in 
Dake's  eyes.  Something  like  a  smile  unbent  the 
hard  lines  of  his  mouth. 


132  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  You  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  Draycott. 
But  you  see,  at  the  last  pinch,  it  all  comes  down  to 
myself.  Nobody  can  do  it  for  me." 

"  That  is  the  sensible  thing  to  say,  only  I  wish 
you  would  put  a  little  more  vim  into  it." 

They  had  dropped  on  the  bench  now,  and  the 
leaves  overhead  danced  in  the  rising  breeze,  and 
the  shadows  and  the  lights  flickered  at  their  feet. 

Dake  turned  and  looked  at  his  companion  silently. 
Then  all  the  pent-up  struggle  and  misery  of  the  last 
weeks  broke  into  a  swelling  flood  of  passionate 
speech. 

"  I  have  tried,  Draycott.  God  —  if  there  is  one  — 
knows  I  am  telling  you  the  truth.  When  I  first  felt 
it  comin'  on,  I  braced  up  and  swore  I'd  stick  to  the 
work  if  I  died  for  it.  Day  after  day  when  it  grew 
wuss,  I  held  on,  until  it  seemed  I  should  go  mad,  and 
I  wished  I  could  throw  myself  into  the  river  and 
make  an  end  of  it.  The  only  thing  that  kept  me  at 
the  treadmill  so  long,  was  thinkin'  of  you.  I  said  I'd 
be  the  biggest  scoundrel  that  ever  went  unhung,  if  I 
run  off  after  all  the  pains  you'd  taken  for  me.  Why, 
the  meanest  cur  you  ever  flung  a  bone  to  wouldn't 
have  done  that !  Do  you  think  I  didn't  remember  ?  " 
His  voice  trembled,  his  features  worked.  "  Do  you 
think  I  didn't  know  when  you  met  me  that  day  on 
the  street,  and  I  wanted  to  sink  into  the  earth  for 
shame  of  my  old  duds,  and  you  stopped  and  shook 
hands  so  hearty  as  though  I'd  been  a  spick  and  span 


THE   QUIET   AFTER   THE   STORM  133 

dandy,  and  you  called  me  your  friend  to  that  big 
swell  standin'  by,  and  stariu',  and  wonderin'  what  it 
all  meant  ?  It  wasn't  because  I  didn't  cuss  myself 
every  time  for  thinkin'  of  clearin'  out;  but  you  can't 
tell  what  it  is  to  a  fellow  who's  been  used  all  his  life 
to  loafin'  and  trampin'  until  it's  got  into  his  bones 
and  blood,  to  be  shut  up  between  brick  walls,  day 
after  day.  He  gits  to  loathe  the  work,  to  feel  he 
must  quit  it  or  die.  You  don't  know;  you're  used 
to  reg'lar  habits  and  hours.  All  that's  in  your  blood 
too,  but  mine's  of  another  strain.  It's  what  you  call 
heredity.  I  heard  a  man  give  a  talk  on  it  once,  and 
I  came  away  at  the  end  sayin',  '  The  poor  fellers 
that  train  in  my  company  aint  got  much  of  a  chance 
anyhow.'  ' 

"  Oh,  hang  your  heredity  !  "  exploded  Tom,  who 
was  reading  a  new  chapter  in  human  nature,  and 
gaining  some  fresh  insight  into  all  his  companion  had 
suffered,  and  of  course  a  livelier  sympathy  with  it. 
"  I  see  it  was  all  a  huge  mistake,"  he  continued  in  a 
softer  tone,  "  to  set  you  at  the  grindstone  day  after 
day.  It  was  too  sudden  a  change  from  all  your  old 
habits  and  ways.  It  was  only  natural  you  should 
kick.  But,  for  all  that,"  his  voice  deepened  and 
grew  tense,  "  I  shall  not  give  you  up  —  not  much  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  care,  Draycott  ?  I  ain't  wuth  it. 
You  better  let  me  slide." 

"  I  haven't  analyzed  the  feeling,  but  it  comes  down 
to  this  —  I  am  going  to  save  you !  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 


134  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

He  rose  now,  and  stood  silent  a  moment  or  two, 
looking  down  on  Dake  Cramley.  Tom's  face  was 
white,  his  jaw  was  set.  A  mighty  force,  a  great 
pity,  inspired  his  will,  and  expanded  his  stalwart 
frame. 

"No,  sir,"  came  the  low-keyed,  dominant  voice. 
"  I  won't  lose  you,  Dake  Cramley,  if  I  have  to  fight 
every  devil  in  Inferno  to  save  you !  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  young  Draycott  was  saying  in 
the  most  quiet,  reasonable  tone,  — 

"  I  see  where  a  good  deal  of  the  trouble  hinges. 
You  need  some  change  —  some  fresh  interest  to  take 
you  out  of  this  groove.  You've  nobody  to  care 
for,  but  one  feather-brained  fellow  who  can  only 
snatch  an  occasional  hour  at  night  to  see  you.  If 
you  could  only  catch  on  to  somebody  who  would  stir 
you  up  every  day,  and  give  you  something  to  think 
about,  you  wouldn't  have  slumped  so." 

"  P'rhaps  ;  I  don't  know,"  commented  Dake  hope- 
lessly. 

"Well,  it's  plain  to  me  as  daylight.  But  I  can't 
decide  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Then,  I've  got  to 
be  off  for  a  week  in  the  country  with  my  sister. 
We  start  to-morrow.  It's  unlucky  it's  come  just  at 
this  time,  but  I  can't  cut  things.  Can  you  promise, 
word  and  honor  now,  to  stick  to  the  warehouse 
until  I  return  ?  If  you  can't,  by  Jove,  I'll  knock 
you  down  senseless,  and  have  you  locked  up  for  the 


THE   QUIET   AFTER   THE   STORM  135 

next  week  in  a  private  room  where  nobody  will  find 
you !  I  know  a  fellow  who  will  see  me  through  it 
too !  "  thinking  of  Steve,  the  trusty  factotum  at  Red 
Knolls.  "  You  see,  Dake,  Fin  in  life-and-dcath 
earnest  about  this  matter ! '' 

"  I  see  you  are,  Draycott,"  setting  his  jaws  hard, 
and  looking  square  in  Tom's  eyes.  "  I'll  promise 
you.  It  seems  easy  enough  to  do  that  now,  after  our 
talk.  But  if  the  old  madness  for  the  fields  and  the 
woods  and  the  jolly  freedom  and  the  devil-may-care 
life  comes  back  —  I'll  fight  it  out." 

"  Ah,  Dake,  can  I  trust  you  ?  Can  you  trust  your- 
self ?"  almost  groaned  Tom,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
other's  knee. 

The  youth  placed  his  big  palm  on  Tom's  hand. 

"  I'll  stay  if  it  kills  me,"  he  said  solemnly. 

They  moved  together  to  the  entrance.  On  the 
sidewalk  the  crowds  were  getting  thin.  The  night 
was  growing  late.  They  grasped  each  other's  hands, 
looked  again  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  parted  with- 
out a  word  —  one  for  his  small  close  room  under  the 
attic  roof,  the  other  for  his  spacious,  handsomely 
appointed  chamber  at  Red  Knolls. 

But  that  had  happened,  which,  if  the  two  lived  to 
be  old  men,  would  make  one  July  night  dwell  for- 
ever in  their  memories. 


136  "SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN 


XVII 

A   NORTH   END   DRAMA 

THE  fever  that  was  like  a  consuming  fire  in  pulse 
and  brain,  the  hunger,  like  the  fierce  clamoring  in- 
stinct of  the  chained  wild  beast,  for  the  woods  and 
the  wide  spaces,  and  the  old  sweet  life  of  roaming 
freedom,  were  coming  back  again.  Dake  Cramley 
knew  the  signs.  For  three  days,  under  the  potent 
spell  of  one  memory,  he  had  kept  the  tumult  at  bay. 

That  evening,  his  supper  finished,  he  went  out  for 
a  walk.  The  dusk  was  slowly  gathering  in  the 
summer  air.  The  light  wind  which  had  cooled  the 
day  had  gone  down  with  the  sunset. 

Dake  unconsciously  took  his  way  to  the  North 
End.  He  had  of  late  kept  clear  of  his  former  haunts, 
but  in  his  gloom  and  restlessness  old  habits  asserted 
themselves.  He  moved  rapidly  along  through  the 
narrow  streets,  the  unsavory  smells,  the  gathering 
groups  of  unkempt  men  and  women.  Some  of  these 
stared  curiously  at  the  youth ;  for  his  dress,  even  his 
gait  and  air,  suggested  a  respectability  not  indige- 
nous to  that  locality.  By  this  time  the  lights  were 
beginning  to  flare  through  the  dingy  windows  and 
open  doors  of  the  saloons.  Loud,  coarse  voices  in 


A   NORTH    END   DRAMA  137 

talk  alternated  with  shouts  of  ribald  jest  and  mirth. 
The  narrow,  untidy  thoroughfare  was  lined  with 
huddled,  decaying  houses  and  tumble-down  rooker- 
ies. He  passed  groups  —  men  and  women — with 
bold,  leering  glances  or  dull,  besotted  faces.  The 
general  disorder,  the  squalor,  the  stifling,  noisome 
scents,  above  all,  the  humanity,  soiled,  debased,  vi- 
cious, showed  that  Dake  Cramley  had  strayed  into  one 
of  the  lowest  quarters  of  the  North  End.  Absorbed 
in  his  thoughts,  he  had  not  been  conscious  where  his 
steps  were  tending ;  and  when  he  awoke  to  his  envi- 
ronment, —  not  an  unfamiliar  one  in  his  boyhood,  — 
all  his  finer  instincts  revolted.  He  turned  sharply  on 
his  heel.  He  was  not  really  alarmed  ;  he  had  a  good 
deal  of  reliance,  when  it  came  to  the  pinch,  on  his 
own  muscles ;  but  he  preferred  to  avoid  any  chance 
of  bringing  these  into  play ;  and  he  was  quite  sure 
the  locality  was  not  one  in  which  respectable  people 
were  inclined  to  venture  after  dusk.  He  had  gone 
only  a  few  paces  when  he  stopped  sharply.  A  cry 
had  arrested  him  —  a  child's  cry,  wild  with  pain  and 
terror.  The  next  moment  a  tiny  figure  staggered 
blindly  out  of  the  narrow,  cluttered  alley  on  his  right. 
The  small  white  face,  the  big,  strained  eyes,  with  the 
fright  and  horror  in  them,  must  have  moved  any 
heart  which  held  one  lingering  fibre  of  human  pity. 

A  long  red  gash,  from  which  the  blood  made  a 
slow,  trickling  stream,  curved  dangerously  near  the 
temple.  The  hair,  a  heap  of  soft,  shining  gold,  hung 


138  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

about  the  peaked  face.  Had  Dake  been  more  famil- 
iar with  the  canvases  of  the  old  masters,  he  would 
have  thought  of  saints  and  aureoles. 

He  had  barely  time  to  take  in  the  small  figure  as 
the  child,  in  her  wild  effort  to  escape,  drew  near  with- 
out perceiving  him,  when  another  form  emerged  from 
the  alley. 

It  was  that  of  a  heavy-built,  stumbling  man,  with  a 
big,  blotched,  drink-sodden  face,  a  coarse,  ragged 
beard,  and  an  ugly  gleam  at  that  moment  in  his 
bloodshot  eyes.  He  carried  a  small  cowhide  in  one 
hand,  and  he  was  growling  and  swearing  to  himself 
as  he  glanced  stupidly,  but  with  some  malicious  in- 
tent, around  him.  Then,  catching  sight  of  the  girl, 
he  reeled  toward  her  with  loud  curses  and  uplifted 
whip. 

Swift  as  lightning  Dake  sprang  forward,  grasped 
the  child  in  one  arm,  and  then  turned  and  confronted 
the  man,  with  a  rage  in  his  veins  which  gave  him  the 
strength  of  ten. 

The  bloodshot  eyes  stared  in  wrathful  amazement 
at  this  new  appearance  on  the  scene.  It  was  a  force 
with  which  the  man  had  not  counted,  and  it  required 
some  moments  for  his  fuddled  wits  to  adjust  them- 
selves to  the  new  situation.  But  the  early,  ugly  phase 
of  intoxication  was  uppermost ;  and  he  balanced  him- 
self on  rather  unsteady  feet  and  shouted  hoarsely,  — 

"  What  business  you  with  that  brat,  I  say  ?  Let 
her  down  in  a  trice,  or  she  won't  be  the  only  one 
that'll  git  a  big  wolloppin'." 


A   NORTH    END   DRAMA  189 

A  volley  of  oaths  followed  this  threat. 

It  was  time  to  act  now.  Dake  gathered  the  little 
palpitating  creature  close  with  one  strong  arm,  and 
drew  up  with  clenched  hand  and  blazing  eyes  to  the 
enemy. 

"  Strike  her  one  blow,  you  brute,"  he  said  in  a 
low,  determined  voice,  "and  I'll  smash  your  face 
into  such  shape  that  you'll  never  be  able  to  get  it 
right  again." 

It  was  the  talk  of  the  slums,  but  it  was  in  a  good 
cause  this  time. 

With  that  fiery  gaze,  with  that  big,  clenched  hand 
under  his  eyes,  the  coward  at  bottom  of  the  brute 
was  a  good  deal  startled.  He  tried  to  bluff  it  out 
however.  He  swore,  and  swung  the  cowhide  threat- 
eningly, while  Dake  kept  him  at  bay  with  one  powerful 
arm,  the  frightened,  sobbing  creature  held  meanwhile, 
as  in  a  vice,  by  the  other. 

By  this  time  a  small,  curious  crowd  of  men  and 
women  had  congregated.  No  words  were  needed. 
The  scene  before  their  eyes  explained  itself.  There 
were  fathers  and  mothers  in  that  frowsy,  unsavory 
group.  Dake's  youth,  and  the  child  in  his  arms  with 
the  cruel,  disfiguring  gash,  formed  an  object  lesson 
which  appealed  to  primeval  sympathies,  and  carried 
the  crowd  in  his  favor. 

By  slaps  on  his  shoulder,  by  trenchant  speeches, 
too  often  interlarded  with  oaths,  by  the  women's 
pitying  ejaculations,  as  they  gazed  on  the  gashed  fore- 


140  "  SIRS,   ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

head,  the  crowd  expressed  its  unanimous  sentiments. 
Threatening  looks  and  menacing  gestures  were  freely 
lavished  on  the  cause  of  this  excitement.  These 
people  were  in  a  mood  likely  to  become  dangerous. 

"  Ride  his  old  carcass  on  a  rail !  "  suggested  one. 

"  Treat  it  to  a  thick  coat  of  tar  and  feathers !  "  re- 
joined another. 

"  His  own  child  too ! "  This  last  interjection 
came  from  one  of  the  women. 

The  pointed  threats  began  at  last  to  have  some 
effect  on  their  object. 

"  That's  good !  "  he  chuckled  hoarsely.  Then, 
clutching  his  ragged  beard  with  a  hiccoughy  laugh, 
he  went  on. 

"I've  no  more  property  in  the  brat  than  you  have. 
She  ain't  no  more  kin  to  me  than  the  rest  of  ye ;  and 
what  right  has  she  to  sit  up  there  under  my  roof,  and 
eat  my  bread,  and  stare  at  me  with  her  big,  solemn 
eyes,  as  if  she  was  the  day  of  judgment !  Blast  her ! " 

"  Hear  the  old  tough  !  "  yelled  a  hoarse  voice  from 
the  crowd.  "  Boys,  if  you'll  give  the  signal,  I'll  head 
the  rush  on  him." 

At  this  critical  moment  there  was  a  diversion.  A 
woman,  wiry,  angular,  sallow,  hurried  breathless  out 
of  the  alley.  Everything  about  her  bore  marks  of 
poverty,  toil,  and  discouragement ;  still,  she  was  in 
every  respect  superior  to  her  husband,  who  gazed  at 
her  now  with  an  ugly  look  in  his  eyes,  but  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  crowd's  temper  kept  him  silent. 


A   NORTH    END   DRAMA  141 

The  woman  took  in  Dake  and  the  figure  he  held  with 
one  rapid,  frightened  glance.  At  sight  of  the  bleed- 
ing face  she  gave  a  shocked  cry.  Then  she  turned 
on  her  husband. 

"  You've  done  it  now !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  high, 
excited  voice.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you,  if  you  must  beat 
either  of  us,  I'd  rather  it  'ud  be  me  than  Daise?  " 
"  He  wouldn't  'a'  done  it,  if  he'd  been  in  his 
senses."  The  woman  turned  to  Dake  now  with 
that  instinct  of  defence  for  the  male  biped  which  no 
amount  of  brutality  or  outrage  on  his  part  can  uproot 
in  the  Englishwoman  of  the  lower  classes.  "It 
al'ays  do  madden  him  to  see  her  about  when  lie's  on 
a  spree.  I  try  to  keep  her  out  o'  his  sight  such 
times,  but  I  stepped  out  o'  doors  to-night  afore  he 
came  in." 

She  lifted  a  corner  of  her  apron  to  her  eyes  ;  she 
made,  on  the  whole,  an  impression  in  her  favor. 

"  Is  it  true  —  what  lie  says  —  that  she  don't  belong 
to  you  ?  "  queried  Dake,  eager  to  satisfy  himself  on 
so  vital  a  point. 

"  Yes  ;  she's  been  with  us  most  a  year  now,  but 
she  ain't  one  of  our  own  kith." 

She  appealed  to  some  of  the  crowd,  who,  with  a 
chorus  of  affirmatives,  confirmed  this  statement. 

"  Whose  child  is  she,  then  ?  "  continued  Dake,  turn- 
ing from  one  to  the  other  with  the  air  of  a  judge. 

"  Lord  knows  whether  she's  got  kith  or  kin  in  the 
world,  /don't." 


142  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  How  did  you  come  by  her  ?  " 

"  A  woman  who  took  care  of  her  mother  afore  she 
died,  and  said  she  was  a  lady,  come  to  live  near  us. 
The  woman  had  a  fall  and  died  sudden.  I  was  with 
her  at  the  last.  She  begged  me  to  look  out  for 
Daise." 

The  group,  enlarging  by  fresh  aggregations  to  its 
outer  circle,  had  listened  silently  to  this  colloquy. 
Now  a  voice  from  the  midst  chuckled,  — 

"  Yes  ;  and  a  mighty  fat  plum  it  turned  out  for 
you,  for  you  grabbed  all  the  woman  left  behind  as 
soon  as  she  was  buried." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  guffaws,  and  more  than  one 
voice  shouted :  "  That's  so  !  " 

"  I've  never  sought  to  rob  the  child,"  replied  the 
woman,  with  a  rising  flush  on  her  sallow  cheek. 
"  I've  al'ays  tried  to  be  good  to  Daise,"  she  added 
appealingly. 

"  Yes ;  you've  scanted  your  own  flesh  for  that 
brat !  "  broke  in  her  husband,  who  was  rapidly  sub- 
siding now  into  a  maudlin,  grumbling  state. 

The  little  golden  head  lay  pillowed  against  Dake's 
shoulder  ;  the  little  frightened  heart  throbbed  against 
his  own.  All  his  brain,  quickened  by  his  feel- 
ing, was  alert  now.  He  made  up  his  mind  on  the 
instant.  „ 

"I'm  going  to  carry  this  child  off  from  your 
drunken  brute  of  a  husband.  She's  none  of  yours, 
you  say ;  and  as  you  can't  keep  her  from  bein'  mauled 
in  this  fashion,  I'll  find  somebody  who  can." 


A   NOKTH   END   DRAMA  143 

Dake  squared  his  young  shoulders,  and  looked  very 
brave  and  strong  as  he  said  this.  He  carried  the 
crowd  with  him.  It  cheered  him  lustily ;  and  amid 
oaths  intended  to  be  plaudits,  more  than  one  voice 
shouted,  — 

"  You're  a  brick,  younker." 

"  It's  a  good  riddance  to  the  brat !  You're  welcome 
to  her,"  growled  the  man,  whose  cruelty  was  the 
occasion  of  this  tumult,  as  he  roused  himself  once 
more  from  the  growing  stupor  of  debauch. 

Threatening  gestures  on  all  sides  cowed  him  in  an 
instant.  One  menacing  speech  voiced  the  general 
feeling  :  — 

"  Shut  up  there,  or  you'll  get  a  drubbin'  for  the 
one  you  give  the  kid,  which  will  lay  you  up  for  a 
week." 

Dake  started  off  now  with  his  burden.  The  crowd 
made  way  for  him.  He  had  no  distinct  purpose 
where  he  was  to  go,  what  he  was  to  do  with  the 
small  creature,  still  heaving  with  sobs  in  his  strong 
arms,  and  who  had  no  other  shelter  in  the  wide 
world.  He  kept  on  with  long,  brisk  strides,  with  a 
blind  instinct  to  reach  a  more  decent  locality. 

The  scene  on  which  he  little  dreamed  so  much  was 
to  hang  for  himself,  had  not  probably  occupied  half 
an  hour.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  that  time  Dake 
had  struck  into  the  long  thoroughfare  which,  some 
distance  off,  made  a  junction  with  Hanover  Street. 
When  he  gained  the  corner  he  paused  for  a  few 


144  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

moments  to  decide  on  his  next  step.  He  looked 
down  with  unutterable  pity  on  the  little  shining 
head.  What  was  he  to  do  with  it? 

This  was  the  supreme  question  which  faced  the 
youth  in  the  deepening  dusk  of  that  July  night. 
Some  talk  which  he  had  caught  the  day  before  at  the 
warehouse,  of  a  "  Society  for  the  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Children,"  came  up  in  his  memory  now. 
Should  he  ask  a  policeman  the  way  to  it,  and  give 
the  child  into  the  care  of  strangers  ?  Perhaps  they 
would  send  her  back  after  awhile  to  the  misery  from 
which  he  had  just  rescued  her.  That  thought  made 
him  hesitate.  At  this  crucial  moment  the  softest 
little  arm  stole  about  his  neck. 

The  thought  of  his  boarding-house  suddenly  re- 
curred to  Dake.  It  had  afforded  him  scant  shelter 
and  sufficient  food  in  the  way  of  home,  but  hardly 
more  than  that.  The  venture  was  a  rather  desperate 
one.  Dake  remembered  that  his  landlady  had  taken 
pains  to  speak  to  him  several  times  of  late.  Perhaps 
she  had  more  heart  than  he  had  given  her  credit  for. 

Dake  Cramley  faced  about  suddenly,  and  started 
for  his  boarding-house. 


MRS.   JEMIMA   BRAY   HAS   A   HEART  145 


XVIII 

MRS.   JEMIMA    BRAY    HAS    A    HEART 

IT  was  a»  large,  old-fashioned,  three-storied,  dingy 
brick  dwelling,  within  easy  walking  distance  of  the 
northern  railroad  stations.  The  house  had  greatly 
declined  from  its  ancient  smartness,  and  was  in  the 
heart  of  a  crowded,  more  or  less  noisy,  localit}^.  Most 
of  its  former  neighbors  had  made  way  for  warehouses 
and  business  blocks,  and  the  building  itself  must 
have  had  a  sense  of  impending  doom  in  every  timber 
and  joist. 

The  house  had  a  high,  much-worn  flight  of  stone 
steps ;  the  facade  was  dingy,  and  a  good  deal  defaced 
by  time ;  and  the  green  window-blinds  had  probably 
received  their  last  coat  of  paint. 

Under  this  roof,  which,  despite  its  shabbiness,  still 
retained  some  air  of  better  days,  Mrs.  Jemima  Bray 
was  keeping  up  an  unequal  fight  with  the  world. 
She,  too,  had  to  solve  the  first  problem  of  existence  — 
the  keeping  of  soul  and  body  together,  so  hard  for 
friendless,  untrained  women.  She  was  a  childless 
widow,  on  the  vanishing  side  of  fifty  ,  and  misfortune, 
anxiety,  and  the  struggle  for  a  livelihood  made  her 
look  older  than  she  was. 


146  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

The  locality  was  in  her  favor;  and,  despite  vari- 
ous drawbacks,  her  house  was  usually  tolerably  well 
filled  with  patrons  —  small  clerks  and  workpeople 
whose  salaries  did  not  admit  of  high  priced  lodgings. 
Mrs.  Bray  had  the  old,  hard  task  of  making  both  ends 
meet,  with  the  house-rent  —  a  terrible  incubus  — 
haunting  her  days  and  nights. 

On  this  particular  evening  Mrs.  Bray  was  sitting 
in  the  small,  rather  stuffy  room  back  of  the  parlor, 
which  she  reserved  for  herself.  She  was  a  faded- 
complexioned,  sharp-featured  woman.  Her  hair  was 
turning  gray  and  getting  scant.  All  the  smooth 
curves  of  youth  had  grown  to  sharp  angles.  The 
eyes,  once  bright  with  hope  and  merriment,  were 
faded  and  tired  now. 

There  was  a  sudden,  peremptory  knock  at  the 
door.  Mrs.  Bray  dropped  the  sewing  on  which,  with 
an  occasional  long-drawn  sigh,  she  had  been  intent 
for  the  last  hour.  Before  she  could  speak  the  door 
was  flung  open,  and  Dake  Cram  ley  entered  with  a 
small  figure  in  his  arms.  The  first  thing  which  met 
the  woman's  startled  glance  was  the  cloud  of  golden 
hair;  the  next  she  saw  the  small  white  face, 
with  the  cruel  red  welt  and  the  stains  of  blood. 
Mrs.  Bray  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant  with  a  cry  of 
dismay. 

Dake  spoke  at  once.  In  a  few  short  sentences  he 
explained  the  situation.  As  Mrs.  Bray  listened, 
shocked  and  breathless,  the  whole  scene  was  before 


MRS.    JEMIMA    BRAY    HAS    A    HEART  147 

her  —  the  child  staggering  out  of  the  North  End 
alley,  the  drunken  brute  pursuing  her  with  uplifted 
cowhide,  the  part  Dake  had  taken  in  the  rescue, 
the  gathering  crowd,  the  angry  threats,  the  appear- 
ance of  the  wife  on  the  scene. 

"  I  couldn't  leave  her  there.  I  had  nowhere  to  take 
her.  There  was  nothin'  to  do  but  bring  her  here, 
Mrs.  Bray,"  he  concluded,  half  apologetic,  half 
appealing. 

"  Of  course  there  wasn't.  My  poor  little  lamb- 
kin !  "  All  the  mother-heart  coining  to  the  surface 
at  that  pitiful  sight. 

The  child,  still  quivering  with  nervous  terror, 
stared  up  in  the  strange,  kindly  face  bending  over 
her.  What  eyes  she  had  too !  They  were  of  a  deep 
violet  shade,  and  so  big  that  they  seemed  half  of  her 
small  face. 

Mrs.  Bray  bustled  out  of  the  room  without  another  • 
word.  All  her  woman's  instinct  of  helpfulness  and 
sympathy  was  alert  now.  Dake  sat  down  with  the 
child  in  his  arms.  His  anxiety  about  her  reception 
had  been  put  to  rest  with  Mrs.  Bray's  first  cry.  In  a 
few  moments  she  returned,  bringing  a  bowl  of  warm 
water  and  soft  towels. 

"  I  can  do  it  better  if  you  set  her  on  my  lap,"  she 
said  to  Dake. 

Then  a  child's  voice  wailed  through  the  room. 

"  Don't  let  her  take  me  away  from  you !  "  The 
little  fingers  clutched  Duke's  sleeve. 


148  "SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN" 

« 

They  quieted  her  with  soothing  words,  and  settled 
it  between  them  that  Dake  should  hold  her  while 
Mrs.  Bray  bathed  the  torn,  inflamed  flesh. 

"  You're  the  puttiest  little  midget  I  ever  did  set 
eyes  on,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  lightly  bathed  the 
long  welt  on  cheek  and  forehead.  "  That  man  ought 
to  be  hanged  on  the  first  tree  who  could  hurt  such  a 
white  little  innercent  as  you  be !  It's  wuss  than 
murder !  My  —  what  eyes  you've  got !  They  make 
me  think  of  the  violets  in  the  holler  back  of  our  old 
orchard.  I  used  to  trudge  there  for  'em  every  May, 
when  I  wasn't  bigger'n  you.  There,  now,  don't  it 
all  feel  better?" 

"  Yes,"  sighed  the  child ,  and  a  softer  expression 
stole  into  the  scared  eyes. 

"  You  look  peaked  and  famished,  as  though  you'd 

had    scant    pickin's,"    continued    Mrs.    Bray,    with 

%her  pitying   gaze  on   the  small  face.     "  What   you 

need  now  is  somethin'  to  eat ;  and  you  shall  have  it, 

too,  afore  you're  many  minutes  older." 

She  hurried  away  once  more,  all  her  practical 
energies  enlisted  in  the  service  of  her  pity. 

The  shining  head  nestled  back  in  Dake's  arms. 
The  child  had  kept  quiet  during  the  bathing  process, 
only  wincing  occasionally  when  the  water  or  the 
careful  touch  hurt  the  sensitive  flesh. 

She  lifted  her  head  suddenly  with  a  wild  start. 
The  old  terror  was  in  her  eyes. 

"  Will  he  come  back  ?  Will  he  find  the  way  ?  " 
she  cried.  * 


MRS.    JEMIMA    BRAY   HAS   A    HEART  149 

"  Oh,  no  !  he  can't  ever  find  us.  If  he  did  —  don't 
you  see  —  I'm  here  !  " 

She  gazed  at  Dake  with  a  look  of  ineffable  trust, 
and  then  put  up  her  bit  of  hand,  and  stroked  his 
cheek  softly. 

Mrs.  Bray  was  back  again  in  a  short  time.  She 
brought  a  tray  containing  the  best  her  pantry  af- 
forded. There  was  a  big  mug  of  milk,  and  slices  of 
chicken,  and  a  small  glass  of  currant  jelly  —  the  sort 
of  things  to  tempt  the  appetite  and  please  the  eyes 
of  a  hungry  child. 

They  all  had  a  hand  in  that  meal.  Mrs.  Bray  held 
the  mug  to  the  small  lips  till  the  milk  was  drained 
to  the  bottom,  and  Dake  cut  the  chicken  into  dainty 
mouthfuls. 

At  last  the  child  drew  a  long  sigh  of  repletion, 
and  looked  up  in  Mrs.  Bray's  face. 

"  It  tasted  so  good  !  "  she  said. 

A  pleased  smile  smoothed  out  all  the  wrinkles  in 
the  faded  face. 

"  You  feel  better  now,  don't  you  ? "  she  asked 
tenderly. 

"  Oh,  ever  so  much  !  " 

A  moment  later  she  was  gazing  with  wide,  grave 
eyes  about  the  room  with  its  faded  carpets  and  dingy 
furniture  ;  but  she  had  come  straight  from  the  North 
End,  and  it  was  fair  in  her  eyes  as  a  palace-chamber. 

"  Do  you  and  he  live  here  ?  "  she  asked,  nodding 
at  Dake. 


150  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

«  Yes." 

"  Just  you  —  all  alone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  There  are  plenty  of  people  in  the  house- 
But  what  makes  you  ask  that  ?  " 

*'  I'd  rather  it  would  be  just  you  two." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  nobody  here  shall  give  you  a  mite 
of  trouble." 

A  little  while  after  this  talk,  the  lashes,  long, 
thick,  and  of  silky-brown,  began  to  droop  over  th£ 
violet  eyes.  The  terrible  scene  through  which  she 
had  passed,  the  peace  and  comfort  which  enwrapped 
her  now  like  an  atmosphere,  were  having  their 
effect  on  soul  and  body. 

Mrs.  Bray  brought  a  pillow,  and  spread  a  blanket 
on  her  faded  chintz-covered  lounge. 

"  It's  just  the  nicest  place  to  sleep,"  in  that  caress- 
ing tone  which  one  uses  to  an  infant.  "  You  shall 
lie  down  here  and  have  a  long  nap." 

There  was  a  swift  start ;  the  hunted  look  leaped 
again  into  the  eyes ;  the  little  face  buried  itself  on 
Dake's  shoulder. 

"  Don't  take  me  away  from  him  !  "  she  cried. 

It  required  their  combined  efforts  to  soothe  and 
persuade  her.  At  last  she  was  coaxed  into  consent- 
ing that  he  should  place  her  on  the  lounge  if  he 
would  promise  to  stay  close  by  her. 

She  put  her  little  hand  in  his  large  one  and  would 
not  let  go,  even  when  the  lids  dropped  again  and  she 
drowsed  into  broken  slumbers,  with  nervous  starts 


MRS.   JEMIMA   BRAY   HAS    A   HEART  151 

and  moans  which  went  to  the  heart  of  those  who 
watched  her.  But  at  last  nature  triumphed,  and  she 
sank  into  the  sweet,  profound  slumber  of  childhood. 

Then  Dake  softly  laid  the  little  hand  under  the 
blanket. 

After  that  he  and  his  landlady  had  a  long  talk. 
He  related  every  incident  of  the  drama  at  North  End 
to  his  eager  and  ejaculatory  auditor. 

The  last  two  hours  had  effected  a  surprising  change 
in  their  mutual  relations.  Dake's  first  appearance 
under  Mrs.  Bray's  roof  had  not  been  calculated  to  im- 
press her  in  his  favor.  She  had  her  own  standards 
for  the  respectability  of  her  table  ;  and  Dake's  gen- 
eral shabbiness  —  though  he  was  not  absolutely 
ragged  —  fell  below  those.  A  line  from  the  house  of 
Meredith,  Max,  &  Co.,  which  had  furnished  her  with 
frequent  lodgers,  alone  secured  his  admission. 

Dake's  quiet  behavior  and  his  improved  exterior 
had,  however,  its  influence  with  the  landlady  and  her 
household.  To-night  a  common  sympathy  and  inter- 
est had  broken  down  any  last  barriers  betwixt  the 
two. 

Dake  showed  himself  now  in  a  new  light  to  Mrs. 
Bray  —  one  that  did  equal  honor  to  his  heart,  courage, 
and  judgment.  When  he  related  how  he  had  paused 
at  the  corner  of  Hanover  Street,  in  doubt  what  to  do 
with  the  little  waif  he  had  just  rescued,  Mrs.  Bray 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  the  most  friendly  manner. 

"  You  did  just  the  right  thing  to  bring  her  here, 


152  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Mr.  Cramley,"  she  said.  "  So  long  as  I  have  a  roof 
over  my  head  that  little  angel's  welcome  to  a  shelter 
under  it." 

Her  voice  broke,  her  eyes  were  dim,  as  she  and 
Dake  glanced  at  the  little  face  which  lay  so  still, 
swathed  in  that  cloud  of  shining,  tumbled  hair. 


HER    NAME    WAS   DAISY    ROSS  153 


XIX 

HER   NAME   WAS  DAISY  ROSS 

THE  next  evening  Dake  hurried  eagerly  home. 
He  had  had  a  busy  day  at  the  warehouse,  and  had  not 
been  able  to  return  at  noon  for  his  dinner. 

In  the  morning,  before  starting  for  the  warehouse, 
he  had  a  brief  talk  with  Mrs.  Bray.  She  reported 
the  child  still  asleep.  She  had  waked  two  or  three 
times  in  the  night  with  a  wild  cry,  but  Mrs.  Bray  had 
soon  succeeded  in  quieting  her.  Dake  went  off  satis- 
fied that  his  little  waif  was  in  good  hands. 

All  that  day,  amid  the  toil  and  heat,  Dake  felt  the 
touch  of  those  small  fingers  on  his  cheek ;  a  touch 
that  went  down  into  his  heart,  and  made  a  new  light- 
ness and  softness  there. 

The  first  thing  he  heard  that  night,  after  entering 
Mrs.  Bray's  room,  was  a  cry  —  a  child's  high-keyed 
cry  of  surprise  and  joy.  The  next  instant  a  small 
figure  darted  across  the  room,  and  a  little  pair  of 
hands  reached  up  eagerly  to  him. 

Dake  bent  down  and  lifted  the  small  figure  in  his 
arms.  A  pair  of  eyes,  with  the  harebells'  purple  in 
their  depths,  gazed  at  him  with  such  radiant  delight 
as,  in  all  his  hard,  rough  life,  had  never  before  shone 
on  Dake  Grander. 


154  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

As  he  gazed  on  the  child  he  was  surprised  at  the 
change  which  had  taken  place  in  her  appearance. 
Mrs.  Bray  had  not  been  idle  that  morning.  She  had 
found  a  small  frock,  a  pretty  blue  and  white  barred 
lawn,  all  ready  to  put  on  and  going  for  a  song,  be- 
cause it  was  getting  late  in  the  season.  Then  she 
had  bought  the  tiniest  pair  of  black  slippers,  and 
some  further  details  of  child  wardrobe.  After  a  thor- 
ough bath  and  hair-combing  the  new  dress  was  made 
to  supplant  the  soiled  calico  and  ripped  shoes,  which 
were  all  the  child  had  brought  from  her  old  life. 

The  hair,  soft  as  gold  floss,  fell  rippling  upon  the 
shoulders,  which  peeped,  milk-white  flesh,  out  of  the 
bit  of  waist  yoke.  A  long  slip  of  court-plaster  cov- 
ered the  wound  on  her  forehead,  but  it  would  prob- 
ably heal  in  a  few  days. 

"I've  waited  and  waited  so  long,"  she  said  in  her 
soft,  lisping  soprano.  "It  seemed  as  though  you 
never  would  come  !  " 

"  Did  it  ?     Then  you  wanted  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  awful  much  !  I  thought  you  would  unner- 
stand." 

"  Well,  I  wanted  to  see  you  too,  but  I  had  lots  of 
work  to  do,  and  that  kept  me  away." 

"  Will  it  keep  you  every  day  ?  " 

"  Not  so  long,  I  guess.  •  You've  had  a  good  time, 
haven't  you?" 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Oh,  yes,  the  beaut'- 
fullest  time  in  the  world." 


HER   NAME    WAS    DAISY   ROSS  155 

"  I  knew  I  should  leave  you  in  good  hands.  I  said 
that  to-day  when  I  thought  about  you." 

"  Did  you?  Well,  Mis'  Bray's  been  as  nice  as  — 
ever  was  !  She  brought  me  berries  from  the  market 
this  mornin'  and  such  things  to  eat !  Don't  you  see 
my  new  frock  too  ?  "  smoothing  down  the  skirt  folds 
with  a  little  womanly  touch.  "And  my  new 
shoes  ?  "  She  held  up  one  slippered  foot. 

"Yes ;  you  look  as  putty  as  a  fresh  rose." 

This  was  all  as  novel  an  experience,  and  as  de- 
lightful, to  the  big  fellow  as  it  was  to  the  child. 

The  infantile  prattle  went  on  about  all  the  events 
of  this  wonderful  day  —  how  she  had  seen  the  prettiest 
black-and-white  kitty  scurrying  along  the  top  of  the 
fence,  and  the  sparrows  pecking  at  crumbs  in  the 
back  yard,  and  how  Mis'  Bray  had  promised  when  she 
got  a  little  better,  she  should  go  out  there,  and  sit 
under  the  big  pear-tree,  where  the  robins  had  built  a 
nest,  and  which,  though  it  was  such  an  old  tree,  held 
a  heap  of  pears  ripening  on  the  top  boughs. 

At  last  there  came  a  pause  in  the  bright  prattle. 
The  child  looked  curiously  at  Dake  from  under  her 
long  lashes.  She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I've  told  you  'most  everything  about  me  now," 
she  said.  "  I  want  to  hear  somethin'  about  you." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  much  to  tell.  What  do  you 
want  to  know?" 

"What  your  name  is." 

"  It's   Dake  —  Dake  Cramley." 


156  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  Dake  !  That's  such  a  short,  easy  name.  I  shall 
call  you  Dakie.  Mayn't  I  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  like  it.  Nobody  ever  called  me 
that  before." 

"  Then,  you  see,  it  will  be  just  my  own  name  for 
you." 

Mrs.  Bray  now  appeared  on  the  scene.  She  looked 
at  the  pair  with  a  smile  which  gave  a  new  expression 
to  her  face. 

"  Such  a  time,"  she  said,  "  a-talkin'  and  talkin' 
about  you  and  wonderin'  when  you'd  come.  Well, 
we've  spruced  up  consid'able,  haven't  we  ?  " 

She  sank  down  upon  the  lounge  with  the  tired  air 
which  was  partly  fatigue,  partly  second  nature  with 
her. 

"  I've  showed  him  my  new  frock  and  shoes,"  piped 
up  the  infant.  Then  she  added,  "  He  says  his  name's 
Dake,  but  he's  goin'  to  be  Dakie  for  me." 

"  And  what  are  you  goin'  to  be  to  him  ?  "  queried 
Mrs.  Bray,  to  whom  this  day  had  brought  more  real 
satisfaction  than  any  she  had  experienced  for  years. 

"  He  hasn't  told  me.  Daise  is  all  the  name  I've 
got  now." 

"  I  don't  believe  that,"  responded  the  woman,  with 
a  little  solemn,  positive  shake  of  her  head.  "  Nobody 
need  tell  me  the  folks  who  had  the  -right  to  name 
you  in  the  beginnin'  didn't  give  you  somethin'  better 
than  that.  Try  and  think  now !  Didn't  you  ever 
hear  somethin'  longer  ?  " 


HER   NAME   WAS   DAISY   ROSS  157 

The  child  stared  a  few  moments  in  a  puzzled  way 
at  the  woman.  Then  suddenly  a  change  came  over 
her  face  ;  she  slipped  from  Dake's  knee  ;  she  seemed  to 
be  gazing  at  something  in  the  air.  Then  she  stretched 
out  her  hands  and  cried  in  a  voice  which  quivered 
with  childish  joy  and  eagerness,  — 

"  Mamma  !  Mamma  !  " 

The  two  watched  her  breathlessly.  It  was  no 
dream.  They  both  instinctively  felt  that.  Some 
scene,  some  event,  far  in  the  border-land  of  infantile 
memory,  had,  at  Mrs.  Bray's  suggestion,  started  to 
life. 

"  She  is  calling  —  she  is  trying  to  tell  me,"  the 
eager  voice  went  on,  the  gaze  fixed  on  the  air ; 
"  Daise  —  Daisy  —  there  is  something  else  —  Daisy 
Ross — that  is  what  she  is  sayin' ;  and  she  sits  there 
a  smilin'  and  a  reachin'  out  her  arms  to  me.  O 
mamma,  mamma  !  "  She  burst  into  passionate  sob- 
bing. 

"  You  shall  be  our  little  Daisy  Ross  al'ays,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Bray  as  soon  as  she  could  speak ;  and 
she  bent  over  the  child  and  held  her  with  a  real 
mother-yearning  to  her  heart.  Then  she  placed  her 
in  Dake's  arms,  recognizing  his  prior  right. 

In  a  little  while  the  sobs  ceased,  though  the  small 
body  still  quivered  with  excitement. 

"  It  is  my  truly  name,"  she  whispered.  "  Shall  I 
be  your  Daisy  —  Daisy  Ross?  " 

"Yes,    always.     It   is   the    puttiest   name   in    the 


158  "  SIBS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

world ; "  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  shining  hair. 

Then  he  started,  stared  about  him,  and  blushed 
like  a  girl.  Caresses,  given  or  received,  were  some- 
thing so  entirely  out  of  his  experience  !  But  Mrs. 
Bray  had  been  summoned  from  the  room  before  this 
happened. 

That  night,  after  Daisy  was  fast  asleep,  her  two 
friends  had  a  long  talk.  Dake  opened  it  by  propos- 
ing that  Daisy  should  remain  with  Mrs.  Bray.  She 
acquiesced  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Then  he  suggested  making  some  compensation, 
however  slight,  for  her  board.  He  had  been  revolv- 
ing this  matter  in  his  mind  all  day.  The  advance  in 
his  salary  had,  of  course,  been  continued  after  the 
tailor's  bill  had  been  settled.  Dake  offered  this 
amount,  with  some  trepidation  for  its  slightness,  to 
Mrs.  Bray. 

The  woman  had  to  count  her  sixpences  carefully ; 
but,  in  the  present  case,  her  heart  would  have  its 
way.  She  insisted  that  all  such  a  mite  as  Daisy 
could  eat  would  not  make  an  appreciable  difference. 
She  could  sleep  on  the  comfortable  old  lounge,  and 
all  other  matters  would  take  care  of  themselves. 

But  Dake  persisted  in  bearing  some  share  of  the 
expenses ;  and  seeing  he  would  be  better  satisfied  by 
this  arrangement,  Mrs.  Bray  consented. 

There  was  another  matter  which  required  longer 
discussion.  The  two  felt  it  important  to  gain  pos- 


HER   NAME   WAS   DAISY   ROSS  159 

session  of  any  facts  in  Daisy's  history  which  were 
now  obtainable,  but  no  step  could  be  taken  in  that 
direction  which  involved  any  renewal  of  her  relations 
with  the  North  End. 

On  this  point  Dake  and  his  landlady  agreed  abso- 
lutely. Both  believed  the  few  statements  he  had 
gleaned  from  the  woman  and  the  crowd  at  the  time 
of  the  child's  rescue.  Dake  had  reasons  for  not 
wishing  to  enter  those  precincts  again,  but  they  were 
more  for  Daisy's  sake  than  his  own.  It  might  possi- 
bly expose  her  to  some  peril,  if  the  people  from 
whom  he  had  rescued  her,  or  any  of  the  crowd  who 
had  witnessed  the  scene,  discovered  where  she  was, 
and  had  a  notion  some  capital  might  be  made  out  of 
the  knowledge. 

It  suddenly  struck  Dake  that  a  policeman  of  the 
right  sort  would  be  the  person  best  qualified  to 
extract  any  possible  information  of  Daisy's  antece- 
dents from  the  man  and  woman  into  whose  hands  she 
had  fallen. 

Dake  had  some  acquaintance  among  the  police 
force.  He  had  once  saved  a  member  from  a  broken 
head  in  a  street  row  where  the  boy  found  himself  by 
accident.  The  man  had  never  forgotten  the  service. 
Dake  could  depend  on  him  for  a  good  turn  if  it  lay 
in  his  power. 

Mrs.  Bray,  when  Dake  mentioned  the  policeman, 
heartily  approved  of  securing  his  services.  It  was 
her  suggestion  that  he  should  be  brought  to  the 


160  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

house,  and  have  an  interview  with  Daisy.  She 
believed  the  sight  of  the  child,  with  the  marks  of 
that  cruel  blow,  would  be  an  object  lesson  more  effec- 
tive than  any  words. 

Mrs.  Bray's  heart  was  thoroughly  enlisted  now ; 
but  the  whole  affair  had  also  the  charm  and  mystery 
of  romance  to  her  feminine  imagination  and  curi- 
osity. 


RED   BERRY   ROADS   AND   AMOUUY   ROOST       161 


XX 

RED   BERRY   ROADS    AND   AMOURY   ROOST 

TOM  and  Dorothy  Draycott  were  having  a  week  at 
Red  Berry  Roads  in  southern  New  Hampshire.  You 
will  not  find  the  place  on  the  map.  All  I  can  say  is, 
if  you  once  get  there,  anywhere  from  May  to  Novem- 
ber, you  will  never  want  to  go  away. 

John  Amoury  was  a  distant  relative  of  Mrs.  Dray- 
cott; but  the  close,  affectionate  intimacy  between 
the  two  families  had  its  roots  in  something  deeper 
than  any  ties  of  kindred. 

The  Amourys  had  no  children,  and  the  young 
Draycotts  were  very  dear  to  them.  It  was  a  tra- 
dition in  both  households  that  Tom  and  Dorothy 
should  spend  some  part  of  the  summer  at  the  country 
home  in  New  Hampshire. 

"  On  this  spot,"  John  Amoury  used  to  say,  sitting 
in  a  corner  of  his  piazza,  "I  must  see  the  June  in 
and  the  October  out.  I  can't  afford  to  scant  either 
end  of  the  show!  "  When  he  said  this  to  his  wife, 
it  was  with  that  smile,  half  playful,  half  tender,  with 
which  he  was  apt  to  regard  her.  He  had  one  of  those 
delightful  personalities  which  drew  all  sorts  of 
people  to  him  —  a  generous-built,  large-featured, 


162  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

blond-haired  and  bearded  man,  not  handsome,  but 
with  a  face  which  would  have  been  likely  to  strike 
you  among  a  hundred,  and,  if  you  had  come  to  know 
it,  would  have  a  power  and  a  charm  for  the  rest  of 
your  days. 

He  was  a  business  man,  successful  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change ;  but,  like  his  closest  friend,  Donald  Draycott, 
he  might  have  been  more  so,  had  material  possessions 
been  the  aim  and  end  of  his  existence. 

There  was  so  much  to  love  about  the  man !  He, 
too,  loved  so  many  things,  —  books,  scenery,  art,  and 
people  of  varied  qualities  and  temperaments,  with 
that  generous,  many-roomed  heart  of  his.  Then  his 
wife  —  despite  his  decided  personality,  people  could 
not  talk  long  about  John  Amoury  without  coining  to 
his  wife  —  was  one  of  the  loveliest  of  women. 

She  was  a  rather  small,  delicate-featured,  graceful- 
moulded  brunette.  The  glory  of  her  face  was  her 
eyes,  with  their  soft,  dark  brilliancy.  They  would 
have  made  the  homeliest  face  beautiful ;  but  Mrs. 
Amoury's  had  fine  details  of  cheek  and  chin  and 
forehead. 

Amouiy  Roost  at  Red  Berry  Roads  was  the  sort  of 
home,  and  a  good  deal  more,  you  would  have  expected 
of  such  people.  It  was  a  house  of  large,  solid,  gener- 
ous build,  with  deep  piazzas  and  some  picturesque 
window  balconies.  The  color,  a  soft  brownish-gray, 
was  relieved  against  darker  trimmings.  The  house 
fronted  a  spacious  lawn,  broken  by  winding  paths 


EED   BERRY   ROADS    AND   AMOURY   ROOST       163 

and  blossoming  thickets,  and  here  and  there  a  mound 
gay  with  flowers. 

The  interior  of  this  wide-hailed,  large-roomed 
house  corresponded  with  the  outside.  The  quiet  tone 
of  the  furnishings  rested  sense  and  soul  alike. 

The  owner  characteristically  called  the  home  which 
he  had  built  in  the  heart  of  a  large,  ancient  hill-and- 
dale  farmstead,  Amoury  Roost.  All  around  it,  roads, 
green,  fragrant,  shadowy,  wound  and  twisted,  climbed 
and  dipped,  in  the  most  picturesque  fashion,  affording 
delightful  surprises  in  the  way  of  landscapes  near 
and  remote. 

The  name  of  the  land  had  been  one  of  Mrs.  Am- 
oury's  happy  inspirations.  These  old,  vine-tangled 
roadsides  were  gay  with  multiform  red  tints  from  the 
year's  first  blossoming  to  its  fading.  Wild  straw- 
berries, raspberries,  ripening  cherries,  checkerberries, 
partridge-berries,  bunch-berries,  barberries,  the  clus- 
ters of  mountain  ash,  each  had  their  turn,  each  shot 
a  more  or  less  vivid  crimson,  scarlet,  vermilion, 
among  the  varied  greenery. 

This  had  struck  the  mistress  of  Amoury  Roost 
when  she  drove  the  first  time  over  the  newly  pur- 
chased land. 

"They  should  be  rightfully  called  Red  Berry 
Roads,"  she  said  to  her  husband  one  day  when  they 
were  out  together. 

"  And  they  shall  be,  Evelyn,"  he  answered. 

Mrs.   Draycott  used  playfully  to  tell  her  cousin, 


164  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

John  Amoury,  that  the  only  "  woman  of  whom  she 
ever  felt  one  throb  of  jealousy  was  his  own  wife! 

Evelyn  Amoury,  in  her  turn,  archly  confided  to 
Donald  Draycott  that  she  could  not  feel  quite  at  ease 
if  the  woman  of  whom  John  was  so  fond  were  any 
other  than  Grace  Draycott! 

As  a  matter  of  course  the  young  people  were  hav- 
ing the  most  delightful  time  possible.  Their  visit 
happened  this  year  to  coincide  with  that  of  some 
other  guests  of  a  different  status. 

"  They  had  no  children  of  their  own,"  John  Am- 
oury said,  "  therefore  they  must  piece  it  out  as  they 
best  could  with  other  people's." 

So  every  year  they  came  for  their  Children's  Week 
to  Red  Berry  Roads  —  "  tow-headed  lads  and  romping 
lasses,"  as  John  Amoury  called  them  —  a  round 
dozen,  —  the  boys  lodged  in  some  comfortable  rooms 
partitioned  off  in  the  stable-loft,  where  the  coachman 
affirmed  that  he  "  slept  with  one  eye  open  lest  the 
rascally  younkers  should  play  some  devil's  trick  with 
the  animals  !  " 

The  girls  —  they  came  like  the  bo}rs,  from  the  city 
alleys  and  slums  —  were  relegated  to  the  attic,  where 
the  small,  sunny  rooms  seemed  to  them  like  palace- 
chambers,  and  where  they  could  see  the  nickering  of 
leaf-shadows,  while  the  robins  from  nests  in  the 
boughs  sang  them  wide  awake  in  the  midsummer 
mornings. 

Then  the  long  happy  day  was  before  them,  when 


RED    BERRY   ROADS    AND   AMOURY   ROOST       1G5 

they  could  roam  at  their  own  sweet  will  through 
green  meadows  and  clover-scented  lanes,  and  dim, 
soft-whispering  pine-woods,  to  return  at  night  a  tired, 
merry,  ravenous  crowd,  to  sate  their  appetites  at  a 
board  heaped  with  appetizing  abundance. 

These  singular  guests  afforded  infinite  amusement 
and  fresh  interest  to  the  young  Draycotts,  who  were 
eager  to  lend  a  hand  in  their  entertainment.  "  The 
dozen,"  as  they  were  comprehensively  designated  at 
Amoury  Roost,  were  largely  left  to  themselves  to 
take  their  happiness  in  their  own  way,  amid  the  vast, 
green  rooms  whose  doors  the  summer  swung  wide  to 
them. 

The  third  morning  after  her  arrival,  Dorothy 
found  herself  with  some  unusual  leisure  on  her 
hands.  Tom  had  gone  to  drive  with  his  host.  Mrs. 
Amoury  was  engaged  with  some  household  matters. 

Dorothy  had  watched  the  dozen  set  off,  wild  with 
glee,  for  a  picnic  in  the  woods.  The  perfect  morning, 
with  its  gold  and  azure,  its  dews  still  sparkling 
among  the  greenery,  kept  her  out  in  the  grounds. 
As  she  sauntered  among  the  winding  paths  she 
caught  sight,  over  the  low  stone  wall,  of  Griff,  who 
had  just  led  Caliph  out  to  water. 

Caliph  was  Mr.  Amoury's  favorite  horse,  a  large, 
splendid-built,  thoroughbred  roan. 

Caliph  knew  Dorothy  almost  as  well  as  he  did  his 
master.  The  fiery  creature  was  docile  to  the  touch 
of  that  little  palm  which  had  regaled  him  with  sugar 


166  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

and  apples  when  he  was  a  colt,  and  the  giver  a  slip 
of  a  girl. 

Those  old,  happy  times  rose  vivid  in  Dorothy's 
memory.  If  she  and  Caliph  could  only  start  off  now 
on  one  of  their  gallops  together !  She  would  choose 
the  quiet  roads  she  knew  so  well,  where  there 
was  small  chance  of  meeting  anybody  unless  it  might* 
be  some  school  children  or  farm-hand.  In  a  flash 
Dorothy  had  mounted  the  coping  of  the  low  stone 
wall.  She  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  The 
man  turned  sharply  about,  and  trotted  up  to  her. 

"  Griff,"  she  began  breathlessly,  "  I  am  just  wild 
to  mount  Caliph  and  have  one  of  our  old  scampers 
over  the  roads.  I  sha'n't  be  gone  over  an  hour 
or  two.  You  and  I,"  patting  the*  animal's  nose, 
"  are  old  friends,  aren't  we,  Caliph?  Now,  Griff,  be 
spry,  please,  and  saddle  him  in  a  hurry,  and  bring 
him  here  and  see  what  a  mount  I'll  make  from  this 
stone-wall ! " 

Griffin  was  a  Welshman  with  a  short,  stout  figure, 
and  a  square,  smooth-shaven,  honest  face. 

His  small  eyes  twinkled  and  his  big  mouth  twisted 
and  smiled,  as  he  gazed  at  the  young  girl,  who  only 
yesterday  it  seemed,  had  pattered  about  the  stable 
with  him. 

"  Caliph's  in  fine  trim,"  he  said  in  his  slow  way, 
"  and  the  mornin'  was  made  for  a  smart  canter.  I'll 
saddle  him  and  have  him  back  in  short  order,  Miss 
Dorothy." 


RED    BEttRY   ROADS   AND   AMOUR Y   ROOST        167 

She  waited  on  the  stone  coping,  her  slender  young 
figure  drawn  against  the  greenery  of  the  thickets. 
She  wore  a  shade  hat,  the  wide  brim  caught  up  at 
one  side,  and  some  light,  pearl-tinted  stuff  twisted 
about  the  crown.  Her  blouse  was  a  pretty,  simple 
affair  in  so  faint  a  shade  of  yellow  that  it  had  almost 
the  effect  of  cream-white.  She  wore  a  plain  black 
silk  skirt  longer  than  those  she  usually  chose  for  a 
walk.  She  did  not  have  to  wait  long,  perched  on 
that  low  coping  between  blue  sky  and  green  earth. 
Griff  soon  appeared  leading  Caliph ;  and  Dorothy, 
placing  her  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  sprang 
lightly  into  the  saddle. 

"  That  was  handsomely  done,  Miss  Dorothy,"  com- 
mented Griff,  putting  the  reins  in  her  hand,  and 
touching  his  cap. 

"  Thank  you,  Griff." 

The  world  seemed  to  Dorothy  Draycott  a  very 
happy  place  as  she  rode  away  into  the  summer 
morning. 

Griff  stood  and  watched  the  light,  erect  figure, 
the  high-stepping  roan,  with  a  look  of  pleasure  soft- 
ening his  rugged  features. 

"If  she  ain't  a  picter,  a  sittin'  on  that  big  creetur,' 
to  make  a  man's  heart  go  pit-a-pat  under  his  ribs, 
then  I'll  be  shot !  "  he  murmured  to  himself. 

An  hour  later  Dorothy  drew  rein  on  a  lonely  road 
which  wound  through  a  small  stretch  of  thick  pine 
woods.  She  had  been  racing  Caliph  over  the  old 


168  "sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

country  highways  in  a  fashion  that  would  have  made 
people  stare,  thinking  she  was  risking  her  neck  on 
that  big,  fiery  beast.  But  she  had  not  met  a  solitary 
person  when  she  entered  the  cool  shadows,  the  odor- 
ous scent  of  the  pines. 

Dorothy  drew  a  long  breath,  removed  her  hat,  and 
half  her  hair,  loosened  by  the  rapid  motion,  tumbled 
to  her  waist.  The  sunshine,  striking  through  green 
rafters  overhead,  touched  the  hair  with  rich,  coppery 
gleams,  which  made  a  glory  about  the  young,  joyous 
face. 

Dorothy's  eyes  glanced  large  and  bright  into  the 
cool  dusk  of  the  woods.  Then  she  dropped  the  reins, 
patted  Caliph's  glossy,  damp  neck,  and  said  in  her 
clear-cadenced  young  voice,  — 

"You  have  done  splendidly,  Caliph.  It  was  just 
grand  —  the  way  you  tore  over  those  old  roads  with 
not  a  soul  to  see  !  That  was  the  best  of  all.  You 
ought  to  go  home  wearing  a  wreath  for  the  morning's 
race ;  but  if  you  don't,  we  shall  have  our  secret  all  the 
same,  and  return  in  triumph." 

She  deftly  gathered  up  the  fallen  hair  and  fastened 
it  with  her  large  shell-pin,  glanced  with  her  radiant 
eyes  and  swift-motioned  head  all  about  the  wrood,  re- 
placed her  hat,  resumed  her  reins,  and  cantered  off. 
She  had  been  there  five  minutes  perhaps. 

Somebody  had  seen  her  —  of  all  things  !  —  in  that 
silent,  shadowy,  odorous  stretch  of  pines. 

A  young  man,  stretched  full  length  a  short  dis- 


BED    BERRY    ROADS    AND    AMOURY    ROOST       169 

tance  from  the  road,  had  been  suddenly  roused  from! 
his  nap  by  the  thud  of  horses'  feet.  He  had  not 
stirred  when  Caliph  and  his  rider  burst  in  sight. 
They  passed  close  to  him ;  but  he  was  hidden  in  the 
shade  of  the  boles,  while  the  sunshine,  sifting  through 
the  pine  boughs,  made  a  soft  illumination  about  the 
group.  It  lent  a  glory  to  Dorothy's  head ;  and  the 
whole  effect,  against  the  green  dusk,  was  that  of 
some  vision  of  unearthly  loveliness. 

The  stranger  whom  Dorothy  had  startled  from  his 
greenwood  slumbers  was  stopping  at  a  summer  hos- 
telry three  miles  away.  He  had  arrived  only  the 
night  before  ;  he  was  awaiting  some  friends  who  were 
to  join  him  on  their  return  from  the  White  Moun- 
tains. At  breakfast  he  had  learned  there  were  brook- 
trout  in  the  hill  streams,  and  had  started  out  with 
fishing-rod  and  basket.  On  his  way  back  to  the 
hostelry,  after  several  hours  and  tolerable  success 
among  the  streams,  he  had  struck  across  some  lots 
which  brought  him  out  on  the  road,  close  to  the 
pines.  The  shade  and  coolness  were  irresistible  after 
his  exercise.  He  dropped  his  trout  basket  on  the 
pine  needles,  stretched  himself  at  full  length,  and 
listened  to  the  winds  dreaming  among  the  boughs. 
At  last  he  fell  asleep. 

All  the  circumstances  of  Dorothy's  appearance 
tended  to  enhance  its  romance  and  mystery  to  a 
young,  sensitive  imagination. 

The   fragrant  silence  of  the  old  pine  woods,  the 


170  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

brown  needles  flecked  with  sunshine,  the  handsome, 
thoroughbred  roan,  and  then,  the  crown  and  glory  of 
all,  the  tall,  graceful  girl  herself,  in  that  simple,  un- 
conventional guise,  with  the  beautiful  head,  the  great 
radiant  eyes,  and  that  dark,  gold-burnished  hair  —  all 
deepened  the  spell,  the  poetry,  the  witchery,  of  those 
five  minutes,  so  unlike  any  other  five  minutes  of  his 
life. 

"Had she  stepped,"  he  asked  himself,  "out  of  poem 
or  rare  old  picture,  or  was  she  the  vision  of  a  dream 
which  had  lingered  and  lit  up  with  its  radiance  that 
wonderland  betwixt  sleeping  and  waking  ?  " 

At  all  events,  the  sight  had  so  fascinated  his  ima- 
gination that  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  ready  to  turn 
knight-errant,  and  go  wandering  around  the  world  for 
another  glimpse  of  the  vision.  You  must  remember 
he  was  very  young,  and  might  live  to  smile  at  all 
this ;  but  if  he  were  the  right  sort  of  man,  reverent 
and  tender  for  the  dreams  and  ideals  of  his  youth,  the 
smile  would  never  become  a  sneer. 

At  last  he  rose,  took  up  his  fishing-tackle  and  set 
out  for  the  hostelry.  In  certain  moods  the  muse  was 
kindly  to  him.  As  he  sauntered  along  the  midsum- 
mer roads  some  couplets  sang  themselves  into  the 
sweet  tumult  of  heart  and  brain.  When  he  reached 
his  room  he  wrote  down  the  rhymes. 


AN   OBJECT   LESSON   IN   ALTRUISM  171 


XXI 

AN   OBJECT   LESSON   IN   ALTRUISM 

u  State  Viator!" 

The  young  man  who  heard  those  words  came  to  a 
dead  stop  and  stared  about  him.  He  had  been  walk- 
ing rapidly  along  the  green  old  highway  through  the 
wild-bloom  scented  summer  dusk. 

The  words,  syllabled  distinct  and  rather  peremp- 
tory on  the  stillness,  seemed  to  fill  all  the  air  about 
him.  At  last  he  spoke  in  a  raised,  decided  key. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  man  or  ghost,  but 
the  voice  is  the  voice  of  my  old  classmate,  Tom 
Draycott !  " 

There  was  a  rustle  behind  the  laburnums,  and  the 
individual  last  named  vaulted  over  the  stone  wall. 

An  explosive  greeting  followed.  The  young  mas- 
culines did  not,  as  girls  would  have  done,  lavish  em- 
braces on  each  other,  but  they  shouted,  laughed,  and 
wrung  hands  until  it  seemed  each  right  arm  must 
ache  from  its  shoulder  blade.  Then  they  squared  off, 
doubled  their  fists,  and  made  feints  of  deadly  assault. 
In  short,  though  they  were  tall,  sinewy  young  fel- 
lows, both  evinced  by  their  present  actions  they  had 
not  left  their  boyhood  far  behind  them. 


172  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

After  this  ebullition  of  youth  and  high  spirits  had 
its  way,  Tom  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"This  is  the  hugest  surprise  of  vacation!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Did  you  spring  full  armed  from  the 
ground  ?  " 

"  Not  quite !  I  have  been  staying  at  the  hotel 
over  at  Cedar  Rocks,  waiting  the  arrival  of  some 
friends  from  the  North  who  are  to  join  me  there. 
And  now,  if  you  value  your  life  a  pin's  fee,  explain 
promptly  how  you  yourself  came  to  be  in  this  place, 
and  turn  up  in  this  most  unexpected  fashion  ?" 

Tom  subjoined  a  rapid  statement  of  the  circum- 
stances which  had  brought  him  and  his  sister  to  Red 
Berry  Roads  soon  after  Class  Day. 

"  What  a  Paradise  it  is ! "  commented  Tom's  friend, 
gazing  around  him  at  the  grand  sweep  of  lawn,  and 
getting  through  some  tall  larches  a  glimpse  of  the 
Amoury  Roost  chimneys. 

"  It  is  all  that !  I  am  prodigiously  glad  you 
turned  up,  old  boy." 

Tom  linked  his  arm  in  his  companion's,  and  they 
proceeded  up  the  road,  absorbed  in  their  talk. 

Tom  was  not  long  in  making  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  present  his  friend  at  Amoury  Roost.  But  when 
he  at  last  proposed  this,  the  other,  sensitive  about  in- 
truding, demurred  a  good  deal.  Tom's  insistence, 
however,  carried  the  point.  He  had  a  secret  inten- 
tion that  his  friend  should  remain  over  night ;  but  all 
that  he  could  leave  to  the  Amourys. 


AN    OBJECT    LESSON    IN    ALTRUISM  173 

Half  an  hour  after  the  introduction  had  taken 
place,  and  host  and  hostess  had  insisted  on  Tom's 
friend  remaining  to  dinner,  in  a  way  which  set  his 
acquiescence  in  the  light  of  a  personal  favor  to  them- 
selves, Mrs.  Amoury,  meeting  her  husband  in  the 
hall,  said  to  him,  "  Did  you  notice,  John  ?  " 

"  Notice  what,  Evelyn  ?  "  There  was  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Of  course  you  know  what  I  mean.  The  stunned 
look  of  that  young  man  when  Dorothy  entered,  and 
Tom  presented  his  friend.  Had  she  glided  a  risen 
ghost  upon  the  scene,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
utterly  dazed.  Of  course  he  recovered  himself  and 
went  through  his  part,  de  rigueur ;  but  for  a  quarter 
of  a  minute  he  was  the  most  amazed  creature  in  the 
universe." 

Amoury  laughed  his  manly,  hearty  laugh. 

"  You  might  have  knocked  down  my  young  man 
with  a  feather  for  an  instant  or  two.  But  I  had 
some  sympathy  for  him.  I  remember  when  I  saw 
you,  my  dear,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  all  struck  of  a 
heap.  A  man  doesn't  forget  that  kind  of  experi- 
ence." 

"  It  was  twenty  years  ago.  You  and  I  are  such  old 
lovers,  John !  " 

She  said  it  with  a  kind  of  amused  tenderness. 
Something  of  all  the  gladness  of  those  twenty  years 
was  in  the  wife's  voice. 

"  Are  we  really  ?  "     His  eyes  and  his  tone,  as  he 


174  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

regarded  the  sweet-faced  woman,  seemed  to  deny  her 
words.  "  You  don't  look  a  day  older  to  me,  Evelyn, 
than  you  did  at  that  time.  Perhaps  you  would  to 
other  men." 

Mrs.  Amoury  lifted  her  delicate  eyebrows. 

"Probably!  But  it  is  unimportant,  if  true." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  she  asked, 
"  Do  you  think  Tom  noticed?  " 

"  I  presume  not.  He  is  used  to  Dorothy ;  lie 
couldn't  imagine  her  having  so  startling  an  effect  on 
another  fellow." 

"But  Dorothy,  —  bless  the  child!"  continued 
Mrs.  Amoury,  "behaved  perfectly.  She  had  no  idea 
of  the  sensation  she  had  made.  That  was  owing,  I 
think,  to  her  own  surprise.  Nothing  could  have 
been  simpler,  nothing  better  calculated  to  relieve  the 
strain  of  the  situation,  than  the  way  in  which  she 
said :  "  I  feel  as  though  we  must  be  already  ac- 
quainted, I  have  heard  Tom  speak  of  you  so  often." 

"  Yes ;  that  was  prettily  done.  He  seems  a  fine 
fellow  too.  But  what  do  you  imagine  Donald  and 
Grace  would  have  thought,  Evelyn  ?  " 

"  That  is  another  question."  Mrs.  Amoury's  tone 
and  look  grew  grave.  "  This  thing  had  a  curious 
effect  on  me,  as  though  the  child  had  suddenly 
sprung  into  a  woman..  Yet  she  is  only  seventeen, 
John." 

At  this  instant  there  was  a  burst  of  vociferous 
children's  voices  outside  with  shrieks  and  yells  of 
laughter. 


AN    OBJECT    LESSON   IN   ALTRUISM  175 

"There  they  come!"  exclaimed  John  Amouiy, 
"  tow-headed  boys  and  tomboy  girls  !  They  have 
been  to  see  the  cows  milked.  They  wouldn't  forego 
that  fun  to-night  after  all  their  day's  rollicking.  I 
trust  the  rations  are  sufficient  to  feed  a  small  army, 
Evelyn." 

"  I  am  sure  that  the  supplies  must  be  equal  to  any 
possible  demand.  And  then  one  likes  to  think  how 
that  ravenous  little  crew  will  sleep  to-night." 

"  And  we  shall  likewise,  I  imagine ! "  and  he 
laughed. 

"Yes;  I  know,  John.  Of  course  one  can't  help 
others,  without  taking  more  or  less  trouble  one's  self. 
But  I  never  feel  quite  so  content  when  I  lie  down  at 
night  under  our  summer-roof,  as  I  do  when  I  remem- 
ber those  half  dozen  young  Arabs  snoring  in  the 
stable-loft,  and  the  other  half  dozen  curled  up  after 
their  day's  racing  and  screeching,  asleep  in  the  attics. 
Despite  all  drawbacks,  I  think  our  Children's  Week 
is  the  happiest  of  all  our  summer  weeks  at  Red 
Berry  Roads." 

John  Amoury  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "It's  lucky 
for  the  kids  you  feel  like  that!  "  lie  said. 


176  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XXII 

SOME    YOUNG   ROMANCE 

MEANWHILE,  in  the  drawing-room  at  Amoury 
Roost,  three  young  people  were  having  a  happy  time 
—  with  a  difference. 

Of  course  you  have  discovered,  my  reader,  the 
identity  of  the  young  man  whom  Dorothy  had  sur- 
prised in  the  pine  woods  with  Tom's  classmate,  Philip 
Fallowes. 

In  the  course  of  his  life,  which  had  not  yet  reached 
its  twentieth  birthday,  he  had  never  experienced  so 
stupendous  a  surprise  as  when  Dorothy  Draycott 
walked  into  the  room.  A  moment  later  he  dis- 
covered that  the  lady  of  the  pines  and  the  poem  was 
young  Draycott's  sister. 

Young  Fallowes  soon  regained  his  self-control, 
and  w.as  equal  to  his  part  in  the  talk  which  ensued. 
It  was  fortunate  for  Dorothy  that  her  absolute 
ignorance  placed  her  perfectly  at  her  ease.  The 
conversation  soon  waxed  gay  on  all  sides.  Merry 
peals  of  laughter  filled  the  drawing-room.  Young 
Fallowes,  who  could  not  at  once  divest  himself  of  the 
feeling  with  which  he  had  regarded  Dorothy  as  some- 
thing remote  and  sacred,  thought  it  would  be  a 


SOME   YOUNG   ROMANCE  177 

relief  to  box  Tom's  ears  for  the  familiar  way  in  which 
he  joked  and  quizzed  his  sister,  as  though  she  were 
some  ordinary  mortal ;  but  he  soon  discovered  that 
young  woman  could  hold  her  own  at  repartee  and 
often  put  Tom  on  his  mettle. 

In  a  little  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Amoury  joined  the 
group.  The  talk  naturally  turned  on  the  great  event 
of  the  day  —  the  children's  picnic.  This  had  taken 
place  in  a  deep,  romantic  ravine,  whose  rocky  walls 
were  hung  with  wild  shrubs,  saplings,  and  tangled 
vines.  At  the  foot  a  shallow  stream  kept  up  a 
happy,  murmurous  ditty,  as  its  soft,  cool,  feet  slipped 
and  twinkled  over  the  stones,  the  mosses,  and  the 
ferns. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Amoury,  as  well  as  their  young 
guests,  had  joined  the  picnic ;  and  the  children  from 
the  stifling  streets  and  alleys  had  gone  wild  as  un- 
broken colts  with  the  freedom  and  frolic  of  the  hour. 
All  sorts  of  things  had  happened  at  this  picnic,  some 
quaint,  others  pathetic  to  more  experienced  minds, 
and  others  ineffably  ludicrous.  These  were  all 
lived  over  again  in  the  drawing-room,  or  at  the  din- 
ner which  followed  after  the  dozen  had  their  supper, 
and  had  gone  to  bed  to  dream  of  a  blissful  to-morrow. 

When  dinner  was  over  they  all  repaired  to  the 
drawing-room.  Mr.  Amoury  had  to  excuse  himself 
for  the  business  man's  inevitable  letters  which  must 
be  ready  for  the  morning  mail.  The  others  went 
out  on  the  veranda,  and  walked  in  the  moonlight  in 
which  the  midsummer  evening  lay  transfigured. 


178  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

Tom  walked  with  Mrs.  Araouiy,  and  Philip  Fal- 
lowes  with  Dorothy.  The  girl  wore  a  white  dress 
that  night.  There  was  some  soft  lace  at  her  throat 
and  sleeves. 

Next  to  his  mother,  Tom  admired  Mrs.  Amoury 
more  than  any  woman  in  the  world.  She  had  a 
quality  of  good  comradeship,  which  in  a  woman  is  so 
attractive  to  a  very  young  man.  When  he  talked 
about  his  college  life  she  entered  into  it  with  unfail- 
ing interest  and  sympathy,  and  was  never  tired  of 
hearing  about  club-affairs,  foot-ball  games,  and  rowing 
matches.  Tom  was  but  dimly  aware  how  often,  amid 
the  bright  talk  and  laughter,  she  touched  the  deeper 
chords  and  awakened  the  finer  responses  of  his 
nature. 

He  soon  plunged  into  Harvard  affairs,  which  made 
his  world  now,  and  entertained  Mrs.  Amoury  with 
various  events  of  Class  Day  that  interested  and 
amused  her.  Tom  did  -not  perceive  how  a  wistful 
glance  stole  occasionally  to  his  sister.  How  tall  and 
fair  the  girl  looked  as  she  moved  along  by  her  com- 
panion's side,  her  white  dress  gleaming  in  the  moon- 
light! Mrs.  Amoury  had  known  Dorothy  from  her 
infancy.  To-night  she  seemed  suddenly  to  have  shot 
up  into  womanhood. 

Mrs.  Amoury  could  not  at  once  reconcile  her 
thoughts  to  this  transition.  She  wondered  if  it  had 
struck  Tom ;  she  threw  out  a  tentative  remark. 

"  Dorothy  is  springing  up  into  a  woman ;  she  is 
going  to  be  a  beautiful  one,  Tom." 


SOME   YOUNG   ROMANCE  179 

"  I  suppose  likely.  She  is  her  mother's  daughter, 
you  know.  But  when  it  comes  to  the  beauty,  I  con- 
fess I  hadn't  thought  much  about  that." 

"  '  Hadn't    thought    much    about    that ! '  "    Mrs. 

o 

Amoury  mentally  echoed  his  remark.  "  Nor  you 
haven't  thought  your  classmate  —  a  fine  fellow,  I 
confess  —  is  thoroughly  enamoured,  though  it  is  all 
going  on  before  your  eyes  !  What  fatuous  creatures 
you  youngsters  are,  and  you  fancy  you  carry  the 
world  before  you  !  " 

But  the  sweet  woman  was  wise  and  held  her 
tongue. 

Meanwhile  the  pair  in  advance  were  having  their 
talk  too. 

We  have  seen  how  young  Fallowes's  first  sight  of 
Dorothy,  with  all  the  romantic  setting  of  the  hour 
and  place,  had  entranced  his  imagination,  and  given 
her  an  ideal  sacredness  and  remoteness  in  his  thought. 
It  took  a  little  while  for  him  to  adjust  his  ideas  and 
feelings  to  the  change.  But  he  began  to  think  that 
this  fair,  blooming  girl  by  his  side  was  better  than 
the  lady  of  his  poem,  whose  face  was  to  shine  upon 
him,  afar  and  lonely,  in  the  exalted  moments  and 
great  crises  of  his  life. 

Dorothy  Draycott  had  reached  that  borderland 
where  girlhood  and  womanhood  meet.  The  quality 
of  one  or  the  other  was  in  all  her  thought  and  feel- 
ing, her  mood  and  speech.  She  was  something  alto- 
gether fresh  and  charming  to  the  young  man,  and  he 


180  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

listened  to  what  she  said  as  a  worshipper  long  ago 
might  have  listened  to  the  sibyl's  oracles. 

It  had  been  easy  and  natural  in-doors  to  talk  of  the 
events  of  the  hour,  to  wax  merry  over  the  speeches, 
the  ideas,  and  the  manners  of  the  wild  little  crowd 
let  loose  in  the  woods  that  day ;  but  out  here  under 
the  inviolate  stars,  in  that  white,  radiant  stillness,  the 
talk,  light  and  gay  as  youth  and  gladness  at  first, 
took  a  graver  key. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  wonderful  night  as  this, 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Fallowes  ?  "  said  Dorothy,  looking 
up  suddenly  in  his  face  after  a  little  pause,  in  which 
her  gaze  and  her  thoughts  had  gone  away  from  her 
companion  into  the  shining  about  her. 

He  smiled  down  from  his  taller  height  on  the  girl, 
tall  and  slender  too,  who  had  spoken  to  him  out  of 
her  frank  impulse  much  as  a  child  might  have  done. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  it,  Miss  Draycott,"  he 
answered.  "It  seems  as  though  this  must  be  nature's 
masterpiece  in  the  way  of  nights  —  not  to  be  equalled 
by  all  which  have  gone  before  or  may  come  after." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  You  are  quizzing  me,  Mr.  Fallowes," 
with  that  sudden  accession  of  dignity  which  was 
only  half  conscious,  and  to  which  her  blossoming 
years  lent  a  peculiar  charm.  "  Of  course  you  must 
have  wonderful  nights  out  there  in  Colorado  among 
your  Rocky  Mountains.  I  hear  they  make  all  our 
landscapes  on  this  coast  seem  small  and  cramped. 
I  should  think  living  amongst  such  grand  scenery 
must  make  the  people  grander  and  nobler  too  !  " 


SOME   YOUNG   ROMANCE  181 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that,  Miss  Draycott.  You 
know  what  Carlyle  says  about  people's  only  seeing 
what  they  bring  eyes  for?  " 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  have  heard  papa  quote  that  often.  It 
must  be  true,  too.  Take  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Amoury,  for 
instance.  It  would  make  no  difference  where  they 
lived, — they  would  be  just  the  same." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  answered  young  Fallowes 
enthusiastically.  "  What  a  generous,  noble  thing 
they  are  doing  now!  It  is  almost  unexampled  — 
opening  their  home  to  such  a  crowd  of  young  savages, 
and  devoting  their  time  and  thought  to  them,  day 
after  day.  It  is  splendid  !  " 

"  It  makes  other  people  feel  small,  though,"  con- 
tinued Dorothy,  as  probably  she  would  not,  had  the 
mystical  moonshine  about  her  been  the  matter-of-fact 
daylight.  "  I  often  said  to  myself,  when  we  were  hav- 
ing our  frolic  in  the  woods,  '  Dorothy  Draycott,  what 
have  you  ever  done  to  make  people  happier  or  better 
with  all  your  seventeen  years  ?  You  may  think  you 
never  had  a  chance;  but,  if  one  came,  —  some  great 
moment,  some  grand  test,  —  are  you  the  least  sure  you 
would  meet  the  call  bravely,  promptly  ? ' ' 

"  I  should  think  the  best  answer  to  that  question 
was  the  fact  one  first  thought  to  ask  it,"  answered 
young  Fallowes. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Amoury  came  up.  The  lady 
proposed  they  should  see  a  new  picture  just  hung  in 
the  drawing-room  alcove. 


182  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Perhaps  she  thought  it  rather  dangerous  to  be 
romancing  out  there  in  the  moonlight. 

At  any  rate,  she  kissed  Dorothy  that  night  with  a 
peculiar  tenderness  before  they  separated. 

"  My  dear,  I  have  been  thinking  of  your  mother," 
she  said. 


DEAR  DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT         183 


XXIII 

DEAR  DOROTHY   DRAYCOTT 

PHILIP  FALLOWES,  who  had  made  a  very  favorable 
impression  on  his  host  and  hostess,  yielded  to  their 
solicitations,  and  passed  the  night  at  Amoury  Roost. 
In  the  morning  he  and  Draycott  vaulted  into  the 
saddles  for  a  ride,  the  latter  promising  to  show  his 
companion  "  some  glorious  samples  of  New  England 
landscape,  if  they  weren't  cut  out  on  the  vast  lines  of 
his  Western  scenery." 

As  they  were  starting  off,  a  telegram  was  brought 
to  young  Fallowes.  It  was  forwarded  from  the 
hotel ;  his  friends  would  arrive  on  the  following 
day. 

The  dozen  set  out  that  morning  for  a  wild,  rocky 
pasture  —  a  favorite  resort  of  theirs  —  two  miles 
away.  Mrs.  Amoury  and  Dorothy  watched  their 
departure  from  the  side  piazza.  The  loud  mirth  with 
which  the  childish  crowd  overflowed,  the  shouts, 
the  rollicking  glee,  struck  responsive  chords  in 
Dorothy's  nature.  After  they  had  disappeared,  she 
suddenly  proposed  to  join  the  youngsters.  Mrs. 
Amoury  demurred  a  little.  There  was  the  distance, 
and  not  a  horse  that  morning  in  the  stalls.  Dorothy 


184  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

made  light  of  the  walk,  snatched  her  shade-hat  and 
gloves,  and  started  off. 

She  overtook  the  dozen  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  per- 
haps, from  the  pasture.  They  were  clamorous  over 
an  aggregation  to  their  numbers,  in  the  shape  of  a 
small  urchin  of  two  years,  big-freckled,  blunt-nosed, 
with  a  mat  of  sunburned,  straw-colored  hair,  and 
short  fat  legs  which  made  his  locomotion  an  irregular 
and  painful  effort. 

He  had  been  discovered  seated  on  a  side-road  in  a 
wheelbarrow  before  a  small  story-and-a-half  farm- 
house ;  and  the  dozen,  with  yells  of  delight,  had 
pounced  upon  the  wheelbarrow  and  its  occupant,  and 
bore  off  the  double  prize.  The  father,  a  tall,  round- 
shouldered  man  with  a  thick,  hay-colored  beard,  had 
come  to  the  fence,  and  evidently  enjoyed  the  sport  as 
he  saw  the  child  borne  away,  crowing  with  delight, 
while  one  and  another  eagerly  took  turns  at  the 
wheelbarrow. 

Dorothy,  as  we  have  seen,  came  upon  the  group 
a  little  while  before  the  rendezvous  was  reached. 
She  was  by  this  time  a  favorite  with  the  boys  and 
girls,  and  her  appearance  was  greeted  with  riotous 
hullos,  and  frequent  somersaults. 

They  entered  the  upland  pasture,  a  wide,  pictur- 
esque spot  with  green  hollows  and  hillocks,  gay  with 
the  midsummer's  wildflowering.  Mosses  made  soft, 
cushioned  places  at  the  feet  of  gray  boulders,  up 
whose  lichened  sides  the  children  scampered  like 


DEAR    DOROTHY   DRAYCOTT  185 

squirrels.  Indeed,  the  whole  breezy,  sunny  upland 
seemed  one  of  nature's  vast  playrooms,  opened  wide 
and  furnished  for  precisely  the  sort  of  small,  un- 
tamed humanity  which  now  uproariously  took  pos- 
session of  it.  The  wild  nature,  the  children's  mirth, 
the  freedom  and  frolic  of  the  hour,  infected  Dorothy. 
At  seventeen  a  girl  is  not  always  a  woman.  Her 
childhood  is  certain  to  assert  itself  in  multiform  ways 
and  surprises.  Dorothy  entered  heart  and  soul  into 
the  spirit  of  the  scene.  She  laughed  and  raced  and 
shouted  with  the  others.  The  nascent  womanhood 
had  abdicated  for  the  moment.  Yet  all  this  time 
the  fair,  tall,  slender  girl  was  a  softening,  refining 
influence  on  that  noisy  crew  of  juveniles. 

A  huge  pine  bole  lay  prone  in  one  corner  of  the 
pasture.  Not  far  away  was  a  long,  smooth  plank. 
The  children  were  not  slow  in  utilizing  this  discov- 
ery. The  board  was  balanced  on  the  bole,  and  with 
howls  and  shrieks  of  delight  the  teetering  followed. 
Dorothy  took  her  turn  at  the  plank.  How  delightful 
the  motion  was !  It  made  her  think  of  the  time  when 
she  and  Tom  used  to  play  they  were  gypsies.  For 
the  hour  she  was  the  little  girl  she  remembered. 

"  I  tell  you  this  is  all  high  jinks  !  "  said  one  of  the 
b'oys  in  a  hoarse  whisper  to  his  companion. 

"  What  a  brick  she  is !  "  rejoined  another. 

Dorothy  caught  both  speeches.  She  caught  some- 
thing else  a  moment  later.  It  was  a  shriek  of  terror 
from  two  or  three  children  in  front  of  her.  The  next 


186  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

instant  a  thunder  of  hoofs  broke  upon  her  ear.  She 
glanced  up  the  road ;  she  saw  a  horse,  a  huge,  gray 
creature,  with  broken  harness  clinging  to  his  flanks, 
tearing  along  the  highway. 

It  was  an  appalling  sight!  That  blind,  brute  force 
suddenly  let  loose  was  certain  to  bear  down  and 
trample  out  the  life  of  anything  which  came  in  its 
way.  Dorothy  shuddered,  and  with  some  curious 
instinct  her  gaze  turned  to  the  road  in  front  of  the 
pasture.  The  horse  was  making  for  that.  Then  she 
saw! 

In  the  middle  of  the  sandy  highway  squatted  the 
urchin  who  had  made  a  triumphal  progress  in  his 
wheelbarrow  that  morning.  While  the  teetering 
was  going  on  he  had  managed  to  roll  his  little  dump- 
ling shaped  body  down  the  pasture-bank,  and  crawl 
unobserved  into  the  road. 

Several  hooks  which  fastened  his  gingham  apron 
behind  had  given  way,  and  his  little,  round,  plump, 
patient  back  was  fully  exposed  to  the  scorching  sun  ; 
but  he  remained  totally  oblivious  of  his  blistering  cu- 
ticle, as  he  did  of  the  danger  that  was  sweeping  upon 
him ;  he  sat  there  tossing  handfuls  of  hot  sand,  and 
crowing  to  himself  in  a  seventh  heaven  of  childish 
bliss. 

In  one  flashing  instant  every  detail  of  the  scene 
was  burned  into  Dorothy's  consciousness.  With  one 
agonized  cry  she  leaped  from  the  board  ;  she  rushed 
to  the  bank  ;  she  darted  into  the  road.  The  children 


DEAR   DOROTHY    DRAYCOTT  187 

stood  still  with  open  mouths  and  riveted  eyes.  The 
great,  swift-plunging  bulk  was  close  at  hand  now. 
She  leaned  forward ;  she  grasped  the  boy  and  swept 
him  back.  Then  the  shadow  fell  upon  both  —  fell 
and  passed  by!  The  horse  came  so  close  that  his 
great  flank  grazed  the  child's  dangling  foot,  while  the 
hot  breath  poured  into  both  faces,  and  drops  of  white 
spume  flecked  the  round  bullet  head.  It  was  all  over 
in  a  breath. 

Dorothy  staggered  to  the  bank  with  her  burden. 
Strained  and  excited,  she  hugged  the  child  devour- 
ingly one  moment,  and  shook  him  until  he  was  dizzy 
the  next.  This  treatment,  added  to  the  appearance 
of  the  horse,  which  had  come  and  passed  like  some 
horrible  nightmare,  scared  the  infant  out  of  its  wits ; 
he  tried  to  wriggle  out  of  Dorothy's  arms,  but  she 
held  him  with  an  iron  clutch ;  he  opened  his  mouth, 
and  yelled  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

A  few  moments  before  two  young  horsemen  had 
spurred  their  animals  up  a  slight  hillock.  They 
drew  their  reins  to  breathe  their  horses,  and  look 
over  the  landscape.  The  young  men  had  been  hav- 
ing a  glorious  canter  of  several  hours  amongst  the 
lovely  scenery  of  the  region.  Their  talk  had  been 
full  of  the  experiences  of  two  years  of  college  life. 
This  would  have  afforded  the  pair  an  unfailing  topic 
for  the  summer  vacation.  One  ludicrous  incident 
after  another  had  been  lived  over  with  infinite  jest 
and  roars  of  laughter.  At  last  there  was  a  little 


188  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

pause.  When  one  of  the  young  men  spoke  again  it 
was  in  a  graver  mood. 

"  To  think  you  and  I,  Fall  owes,  are  actually 
Juniors !  It  makes  one  feel  venerable." 

"  Yes.  It's  surprising  what  a  long  stride  that 
seems  to  a  Harvard  man  from  the  Sophs  he  has  just 
left  behind." 

"  I  know.  It  makes  a  fellow  pull  a  sober  face  to 
remember  he's  half  through  his  college  course.  We 
shall  be  old  grads  in  two  years  !  " 

"It  seems  incredible,  Draycott.  I  say,  we've  no 
time  to  waste  now.  We  must  pluck  up  energy  and 
stick  to  the  grind,  and  let  the  nonsense  slide." 

"  That  is  true,  Fallowes.  Dear  old  Alma  Mater ! 
She  has  a  right  to  expect  her  sons  will  honor  her. 
We  shall  be  glad  when  it  is  all  over  and  we  get  our 
degrees,  that  we  didn't  shirk  the  work,  and  held  to  the 
manly  side  of  things.  It  will  be  an  awful  pull, 
though,  sometimes  !  " 

There  was  a  flash  in  the  other's  dark  eyes.  "  But 
we  won't  flinch,  Draycott,  because  of  the  pull. 
There's  my  hand  on  it  !• " 

That  clasping  of  hands  meant  something  almost  in 
the  nature  of  a  solemn  compact.  The  two  young, 
happy,  fortunate  classmates  knew  the  temptations 
and  allurements  of  college  life  and  the  moral  energy 
and  definite  purpose  they  would  need  to  close  their 
ears  and  brace  their  souls  when  the  sirens  sang 
sweetly. 


DEAR    DOROTHY    DRAYCOTT  189 

The  hillock  on  which  the  young  men  had  paused 
commanded  a  wide  area  of  country,  which  included 
the  rocky  pasture  and  the  children  at  play  there. 

After  the  brief  pause  which  followed  their  late 
conversation,  Tom  Draycott  exclaimed  suddenly  to 
his  companion,  — 

"  Do  you  see  that  tall  girl  teetering  on  that  log  in 
the  pasture  on  the  right  ?  She  seems  in  for  a  bang-up 
good  time  with  that  small  crowd  about  her.  She 
looks  a  good  deal  like  Dorothy."  He  riveted  his  sharp 
eyes  upon  the  figure.  "  Fallowes,  it  z*  Dorothy  !  " 

The  young  men  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  It 
subsided  suddenly.  They  saw  the  girl  leap  from  the 
plank,  and  dart  across  the  pasture.  Then  she  dis- 
appeared down  the  bank.  The  riders  could  not 
perceive  from  their  point  of  view  the  child  squatting 
in  the  road ;  but  they  did  see  the  commotion  in  the 
pasture,  the  small  crowd  rushing  forward,  the  inter- 
est evidently  riveted  on  one  spot.  Then  they  caught 
sight  of  the  frightened,  plunging  beast.  They  turned 
white  as  sheets ;  they  spurred  their  horses  down  the 
hillock.  Each  felt  in  a  flash  that  his  utmost  speed 
could  be  of  no  avail.  Whatever  peril  Dorothy  had 
faced,  it  must  have  come  and  "passed  before  they 
could  reach  her.  When  they  gained  a  point  which 
commanded  a  long  perspective  of  bare,  hot,  sandy 
road,  young  Draycott  turned  his  head. 

"  Fallowes,"  he  said  in  a  sharp  voice,  "  I  can't 
look !  For  God's  sake,  tell  me  if  anything  has  hap- 
pened to  her." 


190  "  SIHS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  She  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  There's  a 
child  in  her  arms.  O  Draycott,  what  splendid 
nerve  !  She  must  have  sfone  to  save  him." 

O 

While  he  spoke  they  could  hear  the  hoofs  thunder- 
ing 011  the  lower  fork  of  the  road  into  which  the 
maddened  beast  had  turned. 

Dorothy,  sitting  by  the  roadside  with  the  silent, 
awed  group  clustered  about  her,  suddenly  heard  a 
shout.  They  all  turned  and  saw  the  riders  a  little 
distance  off. 

The  young  men  removed  their  hats,  and  made  the 
welkin  ring  with  their  shouts.  This  _  ebullition  was 
a  relief  to  their  excited  feelings. 

A  moment  later  the  pair  rode  up.  Tom  was  off 
his  horse  in  a  moment.  Fallowes,  though  he  had  a 
strong  impulse  to  follow,  remained  in  the  saddle 
with  a  feeling  that  his  closer  presence  might  be  an 
intrusion. 

"What  have  you  been  doing,  Dorothy?  "  asked 
her  brother  in  a  tone  half  of  reproach,  half  of  com- 
plex emotions. 

She  sat  in  the  road,  white  and  shaken. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Tom,"  she  said  in  an  excited, 
appealing  voice.  She  pointed  to  the  child.  "  I  was 
all  there  was  to  save  him.  Oh,  don't  scold  me  now!" 
Her  lips  trembled. 

Tom  strode  over  to  his  friend.  "  Ride  back  like 
Jehu,  Fallowes,  and  send  Griff  on  with  the  carriage. 
We  must  get  her  away  from  this." 


THE  OAYS  OF  THY  YOUTH          191 


XXIV 

THE   DAYS   OF   THY   YOUTH 

THREE  hours  later,  Dorothy  sat  at  the  lunch-table. 
Of  course  the  Amourys  had  learned  the  events  of  the 
morning  from  the  young  men. 

Dorothy  had  been  persuaded  to  lie  down  as  soon 
as  she  reached  her  chamber.  She  had  a  long  crying- 
fit,  while  Mrs.  Amoury  hovered  over  her  with  sooth- 
ing words  and  caresses.  At  last  she  sank  into  a 
sound  sleep  —  the  best  possible  restorative  for  her 
shaken  nerves. 

"You  all  look  at  me  as  though  I  had  done  some 
grand  thing,"  she  burst  out  at  the  table  in  passionate 
disclaimer.  "  It  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  don't 
deserve  the  least  praise.  I  never  once  thought  of 
the  danger  or  of  what  I  was  doing.  If  I  had,  or  had 
glanced  at  the  horse,  ^  couldn't  have  moved  a  step. 
But  there  was  the  child,  and  I  only  thought  of  him, 
and  that  he  must  be  saved;  so  I  rushed  out  and 
grabbed  him.  That  is  all  there  is  of  it !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  replied  John  Amoury,  who  was 
sitting  next  his  young  guest,  "  we  have  made  a  mis- 
take ;  I  will  revoke  all  orders  for  the  garlands  with 
which  we  intended  to  crown  you."  Then  he  went 


192  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

on  to  relieve  the  strain  of  the  situation  by  setting 
the  events  in  a  practical,  everyday  light.  "  It  ap- 
pears that  some  men  were  blasting  for  a  well.  The 
owner  of  the  horse  left  him,  with  incredible  stupidity, 
as  he  was  always  restive  at  strange  noises,  in  close 
proximity  to  the  explosions.  The  man  had,  for  his 
pains,  a  smashed  carriage,  and  a  valuable  horse  more 
or  less  spoiled." 

That  night  young  Fallowes  and  Dorothy  sat  to- 
gether on  a  corner  of  the  piazza. 

"It  is  his  last  night.  We  must  give  them  this 
much  grace,"  Mrs.  Amoury  said  to  her  husband. 
She  had  a  woman's  secret  sympathy  with  a  little 
young  romance. 

It  seemed  as  though  all  nature  had  gone  to  sleep. 
Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred  in  bough  or  grass ;  not  a 
star  shone  through  the  veil  of  soft,  gleaming  gray 
which  had  been  drawn  over  the  sky.  The  moon 
rode  like  a  golden  bark,  dim  and  remote  on  far  gray 
seas. 

Dorothy  wore  to-night  a  dress  of  some  soft,  light 
wool  in  a  delicate  rose  shade.  Young  Fallowes 
thought  he  should  always  remember  her  in  that 
dress ;  but  he  had  thought  precisely  the  same  thing 
when  she  walked  with  him  the  night  before  in  her 
white  gown. 

"  I  envy  you  very  much,  Mr.  Fallowes,"  she  said  in 
her  impulsive  way.  "In  two  or  three  days  more  you 
will  see  your  Rocky  Mountains.  How  that  thought 
must  —  interest  you  !  " 


THE  DAYS  OF  THY  YOUTH          193 

At  that  particular  moment  the  most  interesting 
point  of  space  young  Fallowes  could  conceive  of  was 
the  one  occupied  by  a  beautiful,  dark-haired,  girlish 
head.  His  reply,  however,  went  wide  of  the  mark. 

"  You  talk  of-  envying  me,  Miss  Draycott.  I  have 
found  the  best  of  reasons  for  envying  your  brother 
ever  since  I  came  here." 

"  For  what,  I  wonder." 

"  Because  he  has  a  sister  —  do  let  me  add  —  such 
a  sister !  " 

Dorothy  lifted  her  eyebrows,  her  laugh  rippled 
gayly  on  the  air. 

"  I  am  not  certain  Tom  would  regard  that  so  much 
a  cause  for  envy  as  you  seem  to  imagine.  It  -is 
dreadful  —  the  way  we  tease  and  aggravate  each 
other  sometimes !  " 

"  I  should  think  the  teasing  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  must  be  delightfully  enjoyable." 

Dorothy  thought  Mr.  Fallowes  had  a  way  of  say- 
ing very  nice  things.  She  was  a  girl ;  of  course  she 
enjoyed  them. 

A  little  later  tire  talk  took  a  somewhat  graver 
key. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  last  night  when 
we  were  walking  together,  Miss  Draycott  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Something  very  sensible,  I 
hope." 

"  That  you  wondered  how  you  should  meet  the 
challenge  of  some  perilous  moment,  some  great,  sud- 
den demand." 


194  "  SIRS,   ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  remember  now." 

"  I  thought  of  your  remark  this  morning,  and  how 
you  had  answered  your  own  doubt." 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  not  a  real  answer,  Mr.  Fallowes. 
I  acted  simply  on  a  blind  impulse." 

"  People's  impulses  must  have  some  root  in  their 
characters.  How  every  sound  bone  in  that  little 
cub's  body  must  be  thanking  you  to-night !  " 

"  I  did  snatch  him  away  at  the  critical  moment ; 
I  do  like  to  remember  that." 

Through  the  gray  darkness  her  eyes  smiled  radiant 
upon  him. 

The  place,  the  time,  encouraged  her  to  pursue  the 
subject  in  a  way,  which,  again,  the  daylight  might, 
perhaps,  not  have  permitted. 

"  But  the  really  grand  acts,  Mr.  Fallowes,  must  be 
those  which  are  done  after  one  has  thought  about 
them — looked  at  them  in  every  light,  and  knows 
just  what  is  to  be  given  up  before  one  begins." 

"  Won't  you  give  me  an  illustration,  please  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  are  the  University  Settlements,  you 
know.  What  young,  lovely,  refined  women  go  into 
those,  and  live  among  the  slums,  and  work  among 
the  poor  and  friendless !  Then,  there  are  those  other 
girls,  of  a  different  kind,  I  know "  -  she  paused 
suddenly  as  though  with  a  second  thought. 

"  Oh,  do  go  on,  please  !  " 

"  I  know  you  will  laugh  at  me  —  at  least  in  your 
thought." 


THE  DAYS  OF  THY  YOUTH          195 

"  I  promise,  on  my  honor,  Miss  Draycott." 

"  Who  go  into  the  Salvation  Arnry.  Of  course  I 
never  could  do  that,  even  if  the  choice  lay  wholly  with 
me  —  I  am  not  good  enough.  I  could  never  bring 
myself  to  wear  those  bonnets,  or  tramp  the  streets  to 
the  beat  of  a  drum ;  but  I  can  honor  the  goodness 
that  lives  for  others,  that  never  thinks  or  cares  for 
one's  self."  And  again  her  brown  eyes  flashed  radi- 
ant through  the  dim,  moonlit  gray. 

Philip  thought  of  the  poem  lying  in  his  drawer. 
The  girl  walking  beside  him  was,  after  all,  more  and 
better  than  the  lady  of  his  dreams.  An  impulse 
almost  overmastered  him  to  tell  her  of  that  scene  in 
the  pine  woods ;  but  something  in  the  girl  herself, 
in  her  transparent  ingenuousness,  restrained  him.  He 
did,  however,  approach  perilously  near  the  subject  he 
had  mentally  taboed  when  he  said  half  an  hour  later, 
and  after  the  conversation  had  taken  a  lighter  tone  :  — 

"  I  am  beginning  to  like  your  New  England  better 
than  my  own  vast,  incomplete  West.  I  find  it  really 
hard,  at  the  last  moment,  to  tear  myself  away." 

"  But  you  will  be  coming  back  in  a  little  while, 
Mr.  Fallowes.  How  glad,  too,  Tom  will  be  to  see 
you!" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  Tom's  sister  will  be  a  little 
glad  also." 

Dorothy  thought  this  another  of  his  nice  speeches. 
She  replied  graciously, — 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be,  Mr.  Fallowes,  if  I  am  at 


196  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

home.  But  that  will  be  only  in  vacations  and  holi- 
days now,  for  the  most  part.  It  is  settled  I  am  to  go 
to  Smith  College  for  the  next  three  years." 

This  was  not  altogether  gratifying  news  to  young 
Fallowes.  Before  he  could  reply,  however,  Dorothy 
continued,  with  a  little  matronly  air  which  would  not 
have  misbecome  his  grandmother,  — 

"  But  I  am  heartily  glad  you  and  Tom  care  so 
much  for  each  other.  Of  course,  you  will  understand, 
Mr.  Fallowes,  I  must  be  anxious  about  his  associates 
at  Harvard." 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Draycott." 

His  tone  was  deference  itself. 

"And  I  have  heard  things,"  continued  Dorothy 
confidentially,  "which  satisfy  me  that  some  of  his 
classmates  are  not — all  they  should  be." 

"  No  doubt  that  is  true,  Miss  Draycott.  We  can 
onl}'-  hope  time  may  improve  them." 

Despite  the  gravity  of  his  manner,  he  smothered  a 
laugh,  and  he  was  saying  to  himself,  — 

"  What  a  bewitching  little  goose  she  is  ! "  and  for 
a  moment  the  tall  girl  seemed  to  him  the  child  which 
one  side  of  her  certainly  was. 

At  this  point  Tom,  who  had  been  detained  by  Mrs. 
Amoury,  came  out  and  joined  them. 

An  hour  later  the  young  men  drove  over  to  Cedar 
Rocks.  The  time  was  consumed  in  making  plans,  for 
the  next  college  year.  As  they  wrung  each  other's 
hands  at  parting,  Fallowes  said,  — 


THE  DAYS  OF  THY  YOUTH          107 

"  Take  care  of  that  young  sister  of  yours,  Draycott. 
She  is  a  girl  in  a  million  !  " 

"  The  best  girl  in  the  world !  I  shall  look  out  for 
Dollikins,"  answered  Tom  jauntily.  He  fancied  his 
friend  was  alluding  to  the  affair  of  the  morning. 

He  found  Dorothy  with  Mrs.  Amoury,  to  whom 
she  had  been  confiding  that  she  thought  "young  Fal- 
lowes  the  most  splendid  fellow  in  the  world  ;  and  she 
was  delighted  that  he  and  Tom,"  this  with  the  little 
matronly  air  sure  to  set  the  latter's  teeth  on  edge, 
"  were  so  chummy." 

Mrs.  Amoury  knew  girls.  The  frank  praise,  the 
high-colored  adjectives,  satisfied  her  that  Dorothy's 
young  heart  was  quite  safe. 

The  next  day  the  children  returned  to  the  city. 
The  parting  always  proved  a  painful  experience  to 
Mrs.  Amoury.  The  small  people  could  not  have 
been  under  her  roof,  their  comfort  and  happiness 
in  a  large  sense  uppermost  in  her  thoughts  and  care, 
without  awakening  her  warm  interest  and  sympathy. 
Beneath  the  surface  of  awkward  manners,  unpolished 
speech,  and  untrained  minds,  she  found  the  eager 
soul,  the  nascent  conscience,  the  half-wakened  heart, 
which  made  her  always  alive  to  their  common 
humanity. 

"  I  feel,  now  the  time  has  come  for  them  to  go,  we 
have  no  right  to  send  them  off,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band, half  jestingly,  half  in  earnest.  "  It  appears  a 
good  deal  like  giving  them  a  taste  of  heaven  and 


198  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

then  shutting-  them  out.  It  seems  as  though  they 
must  have  a  sense  of  injustice  rankling  in  their  dumb, 
resentful  little  souls,  as  if  they  must  be  asking, 
'  What  right  have  you  to  stay  here  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  beauty  and  ease  and  luxury,  and  send  us  back 
to  the  old  life,  the  dark  alleys,  the  noisome  slums  ? ' 
The  contrasts  hurt  me." 

"Of  course  they  do,  or  you  wouldn't  be  the  woman 
you  are,  my  Evelyn.  But  despite  all  these  things, 
it  will  be  a  happy,  noisy  little  crowd  of  savages  I 
shall  convoy  to  the  station  this  morning.  I  sha'n't  be 
able  to  feel,  when  I  look  at  them,  that  any  such 
thought  is  astir  in  the  brain  of  one  of  those  youn- 
kers.  At  all  events,  I  am  absolutely  sure  they  will 
carry  away  —  every  mother's  son  and  daughter  — 
some  new  experience,  some  fresh  health  and  happi- 
ness, and  all  be  prodigiously  glad  they  came.  What 
a  rousing  cheer  I  should  get  if  I  put  the  question  to 
them  on  the  way  down  !  " 

Mrs.  Amoury's  eyes  brightened. 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  John.  Then,  it  is  a 
comfort  to  know  each  boy  will  go  away  with  a  brand- 
new  suit  on  his  b.ack,  and  each  girl  with  a  pretty  hat 
and  gown." 

"  Yes ;  and  a  bigger  comfort  is  that  you  and  I,  my 
dear,  don't  have  to  run  God's  world !  " 

He  started  for  the  wagon  into  which  the  dozen 
were  already  piling  for  their  drive  to  the  station. 


A   FRESH   PROBLEM  199 


XXV 

A   FRESH   PROBLEM 

Two  days  after  the  children  left,  the  young  Dray- 
cotts  returned  home. 

The  next  morning  Tom  ran  into  the  warehouse, 
learned  Cramley  was  out,  and  left  a  line  he  had 
scribbled'  which  appointed  a  meeting  for  that  same 
evening. 

During  the  week  at  Red  Berry  Roads,  Dake  had 
been  very  much  in  Tom's  thoughts.  The  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  was  calculated  to  stimulate  altru- 
istic sentiments ;  but  more  than  this,  Tom's  heart 
was  the  largest  factor  in  his  interest.  He  was  con- 
scious of  this  fact,  and  sometimes  half  irritated 
over  it.  He  wished  that  he  could,  for  the  time  at 
least,  put  Dake  Cramley's  affairs  out  of  his  mind. 
But  they  were  coining  up  to  perplex  him  at  all 
inconvenient  seasons.  He  found  the  problem,  too, 
which  he  had  set  himself  to  solve,  more  difficult  than 
he  had  imagined.  Yet  there  it  was,  insistent,  im- 
placable. All  sorts  of  projects  for  Dake's  future 
presented  themselves  in  one  shape  or  another,  to  be 
dismissed  with  inward  scorn  after  a  little  reflection, 
as  lacking  in  the  first  element  of  common  sense. 


200  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

One  day  it  occurred  to  Tom  that  Red  Berry  Roads 
was  just  the  sort  of  place  for  Dake  at  this  time.  He 
remembered,  too,  that  with  all  the  boy's  repugnance 
to  the  close  confinement,  the  ordered  life,  the  monoto- 
nous toil  of  the  warehouse,  there  had  been  no  hanker- 
ing after  the  old  ways,  the  low  neighborhood,  the 
rude  companionships,  of  the  past.  Every  thing  he 
had  so  wildly  hankered  for  had  been  pure  and  sweet 
and  wholesome. 

The  idea  of  Dake's  coming  to  Red  Berry  Roads 
had  no  sooner  presented  itself  to  young  Draycott, 
than  in  furtherance  of  his  plan  he  sought  an  inter- 
view with  Griffith,  learned  from  him  "there  was  a 
family  in  the  neighborhood  who  might  be  prevailed 
on  to  take  a  fellow  in,  if  he  were  of  the  right  sort, 
didn't  put  on  airs,  and  would  be  contented  with 
plain,  wholesome  farmer's  fare,  and  be  off  most  of 
his  time  in  the  woods  and  fields." 

Tom  actually  went  to  the  farm,  a  pleasant,  or- 
chard-shaded place  on  a  side  road  about  two  miles 
from  the  Amourys,  and  had  an  interview  with  the 
wife.  The  quiet,  gabled-roofed  old  home  —  the 
kindly,  simple-mannered,  elderly  woman  —  made  a 
favorable  impression  on  the  young  man.  Of  course 
everything  must,  in  the  last  resort,  depend  on  the 
way  the  thing  would  strike  Dake  ;  but  Tom  had  little 
doubt  of  his  decision. 

If  this  last  plan  failed,  Tom  resolved  to  throw  all 
scruples  to  the  winds,  and  take  John  Amoury  into 


A   FRESH    PROBLEM  201 

his  confidence.  The  same  reasons  which  had  pre- 
vented his  mentioning  Dake  Cramley  at  Red  Knolls 
had  been  potent  with  him  at  Amoury  Roost. 

The  well-known  figure  sprang  up  from  the  line  of 
benches  and  came  toward  young  Draycott  as  he 
turned  once  more  into  the  mall.  The  young  men 
greeted  each  other  in  the  old  hearty  fashion,  and 
then  instinctively  faced  about  for  the  sidewalk.  Tom 
bent  a  rapid,  penetrating  glance  on  Dake.  They 
resumed  their  old  stride.  Then  Tom  spoke. 

"  Dake,  how  have  things  been  going  with  you  ?  " 

"They've  been  goin'  putty  lively." 

Dake  was  struggling  now  with  one  of  those  sudden 

oo          o 

accesses  of  shyness  with  which  Tom  was  so  familiar. 

"  You  don't  look  as  though  it  had  been  such  a  pull 
as  —  as  I  feared  you  would  find  it." 

"  No  ;  at  least  some  of  it  wasn't." 

It  had  been  a  sultry  day  again.  Little  vagrant 
winds  which  fluttered  the  leaves  were  grateful  in  the 
deepening  dusk. 

After  a  little  while  Tom  spoke  again,  with  a  de- 
cided, }*et  interrogative  tone. 

"  Dake,  something  has  happened  ?  " 

"Yes,  Draycott,  there  has." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  know  ?  " 

"Of  course." 

"  Well,  then,  what's  the  use  of  hanging  fire,  old 
fellow  ?  " 

"It's  a  good  deal  of  a  story." 


202  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN 

Dake  looked  rather  helplessly  at  his  companion. 

Tom  came  to  his  aid. 

"  Is  it  about  yourself,  or  somebody  else  ?  " 

"  It's  more  about  a  girl  than  anybody  else." 

"  A  girl !  "  Tom  stood  still,  and  looked  Dake  in 
the  eyes. 

"  Yes  ;  she's  jest  a  kid.  Don't  look  as  though  she 
could  be  more  than  four  years  old." 

"  Oil !  "  said  Tom,  and  they  resumed  their  walk. 
"  Where  did  you  come  across  her  ?  " 

This  question  proved  the  entering  wedge. 

Dake  began  with  the  old  misery  which  came  back 
two  or  three  days  after  Tom  went  away.  lie  painted 
it  with  a  few  terse  sentences  ;  and  then  he  went  on  to 
relate  how  he  had  strayed  off  one  night,  so  deep  in 
his  own  wretchedness  that  he  did  not  mind  where  he 
was  going.  When  he  discovered  that  he  was  among 
his  old  haunts  at  the  North  End,  he  turned  about 
sharply. 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  Tom  commented  decidedly. 

Dake,  fairly  started  now,  did  not  notice  the  inter- 
ruption. In  a  little  while  the  young  men's  rapid 
stride  had  slowed.  Tom  was  drinking  in  every  syl- 
lable which  fell  from  Dake's  lips.  He  related  in 
short,  graphic  sentences  the  scene  at  the  corner 
"of  the  North  End  alley.  The  two  figures  — hunted 
child  —  blear-eyed  pursuer  —  stood  sharp-drawn,  one 
against  the  other,  in  his  swift  verbal  picture. 

Tom  saw  ;  his  young  blood  was  fired. 


A    FRESH    PROBLEM  203 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  there,  Dake  ;  I'd  have  gone 
in  with  you  to  give  that  old  hulks  a  cudgelling  !  " 

"  It  was  lucky  the  crowd  was  on  my  side  to  a  man 
and  woman,"  continued  Dake. 

After  this,  he  had  all  the  talking  to  himself.  The 
drama  took  less  time  in  the  relating  than  it  does  to 
write  it  here  ;  but  it  included  everything  —  the  hur- 
rying away  from  the  threatening  crowd,  with  the 
little  quivering  waif  in  his  arms,  the  supreme  ques- 
tion what  to  do  with  her,  the  pause  and  rapid  de- 
cision at  the  corner  of  Hanover  Street,  and  the  scene, 
a  little  later,  in  the  small  back-room  of  his  boarding- 
house. 

"  And  where  is  she  now  ?  "  questioned  Tom  eagerly. 

"  She's  at  the  house  still.  She  won't  be  anywhere 
else  soon,  I  reckon." 

Once  started  on  this  subject,  Dake  did  not  know 
when  to  stop.  He  related  the  manner  in  which 
they  learned  the  child's  name  was  Daisy  Ross,  and 
his  voice  grew  husky  in  the  recital;  he  dilated  on 
the  child's  appearance,  on  her  big  eyes  with  just  that 
wild-gentian-blue  he  had  found  sometimes  among  the 
marshes  when  he  was  tramping  the  autumn  woods, 
on  the  shining  gold  of  the  hair,  on  the  little  head  that 
was  always  astir  like  a  robin's.  He  said  the  welt  on 
the  forehead  had  almost  disappeared,  and  would  leave 
no  scar. 

He  told  him  Daisy  would  sit  on  his  knee  with  her 
sweet,  quaint  prattle,  and  how,  "  every  night,  she  was 


204  "  SIKS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

at  the  door  or  window  watching  for  him,  and  then 
what  a  time  there  would  be,  clapping  of  hands  and 
peals  of  laughter,  and  such  merry  little  romps  as 
they  had  together !  " 

While  they  talked,  the  young  men  had  gone  with 
their  rapid  strides  far  out  on  Beacon  Street,  and  at 
last  found  themselves  in  Brookline,  near  the  reservoir. 
The  lights  of  the  great  city  shining  through  the  sum- 
mer night  seemed  a  long  way  off. 

When  they  turned  to  retrace  their  steps,  a  little 
silence  fell.  Tom  was  at  his  wit's  end  for  a  reply. 
This  new  interest  of  Dake's  was  utterly  foreign  to 
anything  in  his  own  experience,  to  anything  he  had 
imagined  for  his  protey£.  He  wanted  to  say  the 
right  thing ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceive 
how  "  a  little  four-year-old  kid  could  get  such  a 
power  over  a  big,  strapping  fellow  like  Dake 
Cramley." 

There  was  no  questioning,  however,  the  change  in 
his  whole  aspect.  The  dogged,  hopeless  look  had 
disappeared.  A  new  life,  courage,  energy,  formed 
his  tones  and  bearing.  Tom  feared  so  slight  an  in- 
fluence would  not  be  likely  to  endure.  Still,  it  was 
something  for  the  present,  and  he  praised  Dake 
with  honest  heartiness  for  the  brave  part  he  had 
played  in  rescuing  the  child  from  "  that  drunken  old 
scoundrel." 

And  Dake  flushed  a  little,  as  he  always  did  under 
Draycott's  praises. 


A    FEES II    PROBLEM  205 

Tom's  first  impulse  was  to  offer  to  do  something  for 
the  child ;  but  a  second  thought  made  him  resolve  to 
leave  that  for  another  time.  Just  now  Dake  should 
have  all  the  satisfaction  of  caring  for  his  protegee.  If 
doing  this  kept  all  his  energies  on  the  qui  vive,  it 
might  prove  his  salvation. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  you,  Dake,  while  I  was  away," 
he  said  at  last,  turning  the  conversation. 

"  If  you  had,  it  would  have  been  the  first  time, 
Draycott." 

"  But  I  have  been  doing  something  as  well  as 
thinking." 

Tom  went  on  to  relate  his  success  in  finding  quar- 
ters for  Dake  at  the  farmhouse.  "  The  country  is  a 
paradise  ;  and  you  can  have  your  swing  round  its  hills 
and  meadows,  fields  and  woods,  and  all  you  have  been 
hankering  after.  I'll  see  Meredith  to-morrow,  and  try 
for  a  fortnight's  vacation.  What  do  you  say  to  it?  " 

"  Say  to  it  ?  I'd  have  gone  through  fire  and  water 
to  get  there  a  little  while  ago.  It's  awful  good  of 
you,  Draycott,  but "  —  he  drew  a  sigh  that  was 
almost  a  groan. 

"Well?" 

"  There's  Daisy,  you  know !  If  I  should  go  off 
and  leave  her  now,  she'd  break  her  heart,  and  I 
should  think  of  her  standin'  at  the  window  at  night, 
and  watchin'  for  me." 

"  The  thing  must  have  gone  deep  with  the  fel- 
low ! ' '  Tom  thought,  but  he  only  rejoined,  — 


206  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"Have  your  own  way  about  it,  Dake.  You  can 
take  your  vacation  earlier  or  later,  as  you  choose,  I 
fancy.  When  the  time  comes,  I'm  always  ready  to 
serve  you  with  Meredith." 

They  parted  at  the  Harvard  Bridge,  promising  to 
see  each  other  the  following  week. 

As  Tom  took  his  seat  in  the  car  his  complex  feel- 
ing found  expression  in  a  muttered,  — 

"  Of  course  I  am  enormously  glad,  but  I  am  also 
tremendously  obfuscated !  " 


A   STORY   AND   A   SEQUENCE  207 


XXVI 

A   STORY   AND   A   SEQUENCE 

DURING  the  next  three  weeks  nothing  eventful 
occurred  in  the  relations  of  the  two  young  men. 
Whenever  they  met,  Tom  was  struck  with  the  change 
in  Dake's  appearance.  It  seemed  to  pervade  his 
whole  being,  as  though  some  new  force  had  been 
breathed  into  him.  The  old  half  defiant,  half  devil- 
may-care  manner  had  vanished.  He  was  cheerful, 
animated,  responsive.  He  had  gained  a  new  poise, 
self-mastery,  and  interest  in  life,  though  he  probably 
was  not  aware  of  the  quality  and  depth  of  these 
changes  in  himself.  Had  you  met  the  pair  on  some 
of  their  walks,  and  heard  their  young  hearty  laughter 
over  each  other's  talk  and  jokes,  you  would  have 
thought  them  as  happy  a  brace  as  Boston  held,  while 
she  panted  through  her  dog-days. 

There  was  one  subject  which  was  always  certain  to 
touch  the  quick  with  Dake  Cramley.  It  was  con- 
stantly recurring  in  his  talk,  it  was  evidently  upper- 
most in  his  thoughts  and  interest;  and  this  was  the 
child  he  had  rescued  from  the  immigrants  of  the 
North  End  alley.  There  was  a  new  light  in  his  eyes, 
a  change  in  his  tone,  whenever  he  mentioned  her 


208  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

name.  He  repeated  her  quaint,  bright  speeches :  he 
dwelt  on  the  simple,  charming  ways  which  made  her 
such  a  surprise  and  delight  to  the  household ;  he 
never  wearied  of  picturing  her  to  Tom  —  the  pretty, 
restless,  yellow-gold  head,  the  big,  star-like  eyes,  the 
rosy,  smiling  mouth  ;  but  he  always  stopped  short, 
declaring  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  describe 
Daisy.  One  must  see  her  to  know  what  she  was. 

Young  Draycott  was  a  good  deal  mystified  ;  amused, 
too,  .after  a  fashion.  For  some  reason,  not  quite 
clear  to  himself,  he  never  attempted  to  quiz  Dake  on 
the  matter.  Whatever  the  small  siren's  charm 
might  be,  it  evidently  did  not  exist  for  him  alone. 

Dake  confided  to  his  friend  the  policeman's  efforts 
to  learn  something  of  the  child's  history.  As  Mrs. 
Bray  suggested,  the  man  had  seen  her  before  setting 
out  on  his  investigations.  He  had  held  her  on  his 
knee  while  she  smiled  and  prattled  to  him,  and  he 
went  straight  from  the  influence  of  that  interview  to 
the  North  End  alley. 

A  stern  inquisition  followed.  Little  additional 
knowledge,  however,  beyond  the  confirmation  of  Daisy 
Ross's  name  was  elicited  by  all  the  questioning. 

The  English  family,  recently  arrived  in  this  coun- 
try, were  living  in  more  respectable  quarters,  —  the 
man  had  evidently  dragged  the  household  from  bad 
to  worse,  —  when  Daisy  was  first  brought  to  them  for 
a  few  hours'  care  by  an  elderly  woman  who  was  stay- 
ing near  them,  and  with  whom  they  had  formed  a 


A   STORY   AND    A   SEQUENCE  209 

slight  acquaintance.  She  was  an  American  who  had 
recently  come  to  Boston  with  the  child.  Daisy,  she 
said,  was  a  double  orphan,  her  mother,  a  young 
widow,  having  died  only  a  few  weeks  before.  She 
had  promised  the  dead  lady,  whose  maid  and  nurse 
she  had  been,  to  carry  the  child  to  Mrs.  Ross's  birth- 
place in  the  West,  where  some  distant  relatives,  her 
own  and  her  husband's,  were  still  living.  A  sudden 
illness  had  detained  the  woman  a  fortnight  in  Boston, 
where  she  was  a  stranger.  She  was  now  so  far 
recovered  that  she  hoped  to  resume  her  journey  the 
following  week. 

The  day  succeeding  this  talk,  the  house  in  which 
the  maid  and  child  were  staying  was  burned  to  the 
ground.  At  the  risk  of  her  own  life,  the  woman  had 
rescued  her  charge,  and  some  of  her  mistress's  belong- 
ings ;  but  the  effort  and  exposure  brought  on  a  fresh 
attack  of  pneumonia,  of  which  she  died  after  a  brief 
illness,  during  much  of  which  she.  was  unconscious. 

The  English  woman  had  been  kind  to  Mrs.  Ross's 
maid  during  her  last  illness ;  and  the  child,  full  of 
infantile  grief  and  amazement,  had  been  left  to  the 
stranger's  care,  with  what  remained  of  her  mother's 
valuables.  These  had  disappeared  in  the  family's 
frequent  changes  of  abode  —  each  one  marking  a 
lower  descent  until  it  reached  the  North  End  alley 
—  and  in  the  pressing  need  of  money. 

The  dead  woman  had  not  mentioned  the  place 
from  which  she  came  or  the  one  to  which  she  was 


210  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

bound.  In  any  case  it  was  doubtful  whether  the 
English  family,  to  whom  American  geography  must 
have  been  as  unintelligible  as  to  savages,  would  have 
remembered. 

"The  officer  was  satisfied  that  this  meagre  informa- 
tion covered  all  the  facts  at  present  attainable  of  the 
child's  history.  The  man,  who,  with  his  wife,  had 
undergone  this  searching  examination,  was  now  tol- 
erably sober,  and  thoroughly  cowed  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  policeman  on  the  scene.  He  attempted 
some  bungling  apology  for  his  treatment  of  Daisy. 

"  It  was  the  whiskey  which  got  into  his  head  and 
made  him  give  her  that  cut  with  the  cowhide.  It 
was  only  one  blow  afore  she  was  out  of  the  house, 
smarter'n  lightnin'.  His  wife  —  blast  the  woman  ! 
was  to  blame  for  al'ays  coddlin'  Daise  as  though  she 
was  somethin'  finer  than  their  own  flesh  and  blood, 
and  it  made  him  mad  when  he  was  in  liquor.  A 
man  liked  to  feel  he  was  master  in  his  own  house." 

The  policeman  closed  his  interview  with  some 
warnings  so  very  much  to  the  point  that  they  proba- 
bly caused  his  hearer  to  diminish  the  number  of  his 
drams,  and  modify  for  a  time  his  abuse  of  his  family. 

In  this  way  the  tragedy  of  Daisy  Ross's  life  at  the 
North  End  came  to  a  close.  Beyond  these  scant 
facts,  with  many  a  hiatus  and  with  no  data  of  local- 
ity to  furnish  a  clew  for  further  investigation,  her 
family  history  remained  as  much  of  a  mystery  as 
though  she  had  come  down  from  the  moon. 


FACTS — WITH    SUPPRESSIONS  211 


XXVII 

FACTS  —  WITH   SUPPRESSIONS 

TOM  DRAYCOTT  became  conscious  of  an  increasing 
desire  to  see  his  friend's  infantile  protgyge.  A 
formal  call  at  Mrs.  Bray's  would  not,  he  felt  instinc- 
tively, furnish  just  the  opportunity  he  wanted. 

For  the  first  time  he  began  to  think  seriously  of 
letting  Dorothy,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Dayles,  into  the 
secret  of  Dake's  existence.  His  reasons  for  never 
alluding  to  him  had  been  chiefly  on  his  friend's  ac- 
count ;  though,  as  we  have  seen,  Tom's  dislike  of  fig- 
uring in  the  role  of  benefactor  had  much  to  do  with 
his  silence. 

But  he  saw  now  that  his  desire  to  meet  Daisy 
Ross  —  at  least  in  the  way  most  satisfactory  to  him- 
self—  could  not  be  carried  out  without  some  femi- 
nine concurrence. 

Tom  made  up  his  mind  to  speak.  He  would  tell 
the  story  in  his  own  way,  suppressing  whatever  was 
to  Dake's  disadvantage. 

The-  time  came  most  unexpectedly.  One  sultry 
afternoon,  Tom,  idling  about  the  house,  thrust  his 
head  into  Dorothy's  room.  Mrs.  Dayles  happened 
to  be  there.  Little  puffs  of  wind  came  through  open 


212  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

windows  from  the  far-away  sea.     Tom  dropped  into 
his  favorite  easy-chair. 

•     "  I  believe  this  is  the  coolest  place  in  the  house," 
he  said.     "  What  a  demure  looking  brace  you  are  !  " 

"  We  shall  be  something  less  harmless  than  demure, 
now  you  have  appeared  on  the  scene  !  "  replied  Doro- 
thy mischievously. 

But  Tom  did  not  take  up  her  challenge.  It  sud- 
denly struck  him  that  this  was  a  particularly  favora- 
ble juncture  for  introducing  the  topic  which  he  had 
been  for  some  time  revolving  in  his  mind. 

He  leaned  his  head  luxuriously  against  the  cush- 
ioned chair,  and  began  in  a  leisurely,  interrogative 
tone. 

"  You  have  never  either  of  you  heard  me  speak  of 
Dake  Cramley,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  No."  Dorothy's  negative  was  decided.  "  Who 
is  he  ?  One  of  your  Harvard  fellows  ?  " 

"Not  much!  But  —  in  short,  his  name  means 
there's  a  story  behind  it." 

"  Ah,  Tom,  do  tell  it !  We  want  to  hear  it  —  don't 
we,  Nanty  Dayles  ?  " 

The  kind,  tranquil  face  turned  toward  him. 

"  Of  course  we  do.  Tom's  stories  always  have  a 
ring  to  them." 

"  I've  known  the  fellow  some  time,  at  least,  since 
early  last  spring."  Here  Tom,  with  a  few  rapid 
touches,  described  Dake's  personnel  and  then  contin- 
ued, "  I  met  him  first  on  the  streets.  Something  in 


FACTS — WITH    SUPPRESSIONS  213 

his  appearance  struck  me,  and,  in  short,  I  turned 
about  and  spoke  to  him  I  " 

"  Why,  how  very  funny  !  What  did  you  say  to 
him  ? "  inquired  Dorothy,  with  a  girl's  liking  for 
details. 

"  I  can't  stop  to  think  up  all  that  now,  and  please 
let  me  take  my  own  way  of  telling  —  there's  a  good 
girl !  I  think  I  made  the  fellow  believe  I  was  his 
friend.  His  surprise  and  gratitude  were  the  kind 
one  does  not  meet  with  every  day. 

"Afterward,  in  one  of  my  tramps,  I  met  him 
again.  It  was  a  glorious  moonlit  night,  on  the  Bel- 
mont  road.  The  fellow  was  all  alone  ;  I  suspected  he 
was  in  trouble  —  succeeded  in  getting  at  the  bottom 
facts  at  last.  He  was  out  of  work,  hadn't  anywhere 
to  go,  and  was  in  a  hard  case  generally.  We  walked 
down  to  the  station  together.  Then,  not  to  make  a 
long  story  here,  I  managed  in  a  short  time  to  find 
a  berth  for  the  boy  in  Meredith's  warehouse.  You 
know  his  old  friendship  for  the  pater.  I  struck  that 
chord,  happily,  as  the  event  proved.  Dake  has  been 
there  ever  since,  and,  from  all  accounts,  has  done 
himself  credit." 

Tom  drew  a  breath  of  relief  here.  He  had  gone 
gingerly  over  this  part  of  his  narrative  ;  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  his  audience ;  he  struck  ahead 
boldly  now ;  he  related  with  some  detail  his  evening 
walks  with  Dake  Cramley,  and  dwelt  upon  the  sound 
sense,  the  native  shrewdness,  and  the  innate  good 


214  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

quality  which  was  always  cropping  out  in  his  talk. 
He  painted  sympathetically  the  restlessness  and  re- 
coil amid  the  changed  conditions  of  Dake's  life  at 
the  warehouse.  When  the  scene  at  the  North  End 
came  up,  Tom  had  dramatic  material  at  his  command. 
Such  a  story  could  not  fail  to  touch  the  deepest,  ten- 
derest  instincts  of  the  girl  and  woman  who  drank  in 
every  word,  silent,  intent,  breathless.  When  that 
was  done,  Tom  Draycott  had  gained  his  point.  Dake 
Cramley  had  taken  the  guise  of  a  hero,  if  one 
somewhat  in  the  rough,  to  both  Dorothy  and  Mrs. 
Dayles. 

Tom  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  change  which 
had  come  over  Dake  since  that  night. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  conceive  of  all  that.  How  a 
little  kid  of  four  years  has  managed  to  get  that  big 
fellow  in  her  toils,  and  keep  him  steady  at  the  tread- 
mill when  he  was  so  fierce  to  cut  the  whole  thing, 
staggers  me!  If  she  can  exert  such  a  spell  now, 
what  will  she  be  a  dozen  or  fifteen  years  later? 
Nanty  Dayles,  won't  you  solve  the  riddle?" 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  with  her  soft,  quiet  smile,  "  the 
boy  must  love  her  very  much." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  Tom 
jauntily. 

"  She  must  be  a  remarkable  child  anyhow.  I  wish 
I  could  see  her,"  broke  in  Dorothy. 

This  was  Tom's  chance.  "  I  confess  to  a  sneaking 
wish  to  get  a  squint  at  her  myself.  Can't  we  con- 


FACTS  —  WITH    SUPPRESSIONS  215 

trive  to  get  this  magic-working  midget  out  to  Red 
Knolls  ?  " 

"Of  course  we  can.  Ask  Dake — what  an  odd 
name  !  —  to  bring  her  out  some  day." 

"  But  that  wouldn't  work.  The  fellow  is  shy  and 
not  used  to  our  ways.  It  would  all  end  in  his  being 
out  of  his  element,  dumb  and  miserable." 

"  I  see,  Tom.  Nanty  Dayles,  we  are  in  a  dilemma. 
Come  to  our  rescue !  " 

The  elder  woman  reflected  a  moment.  "  If  you 
could  go  yourself,  my  dear,  and  bring  the  child  out, 
the  young  man  might  come  for  her  in  the  evening. 
That  would  not  be  so  formal,  and  he  would  be  likely 
to  feel  less  bashful  among  strangers." 

Tom  swung  himself  up. 

"  That  is  a  capital  suggestion.  Just  hits  the  nail 
on  the  head!  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  myself? 
Dake  may  fight  shy  at  first,  but  I  shall  bring  him 
round." 

"  I  will  drive  in  some  day  next  week  and  bring 
the  child  out,"  continued  Dorothy,  rising  to  the 
occasion.  "  You  must  arrange  all  the  details,  Tom." 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  all  this  has  been  going  on,  and  you  have 
never  breathed  a  syllable  about  it ! "  commented 
Dorothy,  regarding  her  brother  with  pleased,  curious 
eyes.  Both  she  and  Mrs.  Dayles  had  perceived  he 
kept  in  the  background,  so  far  as  was  possible, 
whatever  part  he  had  played  in  Dake  Cramley's 


216  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

improved   fortunes.     "I   think   it   was   awful   good 

in  you." 

"  What  was  ?  " 

"  All  the  things  you  have  done  for  him." 

"Oh,  bother  my  goodness  !  ".said  Tom  Draycott. 


A    HARD-WRUNG    CONSENT  217 


XXVIII 

A   HARD- WRUNG    CONSENT 

AT  the  next  meeting  of  the  young  men,  Dake  had 
at  the  beginning  the  talk  mostly  to  himself.  This 
was  unusual.  He  had  not  the  facile  gift  of  speech 
which  inheritance  and  careful  training  made  second 
nature  to  Tom  Draycott.  The  latter  hud  his  own 
purpose  in  leading  the  talk  to-night  to  the  subjects 
on  which  Dake  was  sure  to  expand.  Tom  laughed 
heartily  at  some  of  his  mimicries  of  the  child.  It 
struck  him  for  the  first  time  that  Dake  had  the  mak- 
ing of  an  actor  in  him. 

At  last  he  seized  the  occasion. 

"  I  am  tired  of  hearing  all  these  things  at  second- 
hand, Dake.  You  are  a  grim  old  Bluebeard  to  keep 
your  small  prodigy  shut  up  like  a  prisoner  in  a  fort- 
ress. Why  won't  you  give  another  fellow  some 
chance  to  see  and  hear  her?" 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  better  than  that,  Dray- 
cott," rejoined  Dake  heartily. 

"  But  how  are  you  going  to  bring  it  about?  " 

Dake  reflected  gravely  a  moment. 

"  Could  you  come  round  to  the  house  ?  Or  I 
might  bring  Daisy  out  for  a  walk  some  evening ; 


218  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

only  it  would  be  rather  late  for  her  by  the  time  you 
got  over." 

"  Decidedly ;  and  what  chance  would  there  be,  in 
such  a  touch-and-go  affair,  of  getting  at  the  real 
Daisy  ?  That  is  the  thing  I  am  after  now." 

"  Of  course  I  have  only  to  know  what  will  suit 
you,  Draycott,  and  I  am  ready  to  carry  it  out,"  added 
Dake  earnestly. 

They  had  turned  a  few  moments  before  into  the 
Public  Garden ;  they  dropped  down  on  a  bench, 
removed  their  caps,  and  drank  in  great  breaths  of 
sweet  evening  air.  The  wind  in  the  elms  was  like 
a  dream  of  winds. 

Tom  was  not  long  in  unfolding  the  plan  which  he 
and  Dorothy  had  arranged  between  them.  Dake  lis- 
tened, motionless  with  attention.  Tom  did  his  best 
to  anticipate  all  reluctances  and  objections  which  he 
divined  on  his  companion's  part,  and  to  treat  what 
he  well  knew  must  be  an  unprecedented  event  in 
Dake's  experience,  as  a  very  commonplace  affair. 

"  I  have  told  my  sister  about  Daisy,  and  she  is  just 
wild  to  see  her.  She  will  drive  around  to  Mrs. 
Bray's  and  bring  her  over  in  the  pony-carriage. 
That  will  give  the  child,  too,  a  nice  drive,  and  her 
first  sight  of  Cambridge  and  Arlington.  We  are  to 
have  this  affair,  you  see,  all  by  ourselves,  and  give 
Daisy  a  good  time,  with  no  stiffness  or  ceremony  of 
any  kind.  Nobody  will  be  there  but  Nanty  Dayles, 
who  is  the  kindest,  most  motherly  soul  in  the  world. 


A    HAED-WUUNG    CONSENT  219 

111  the  evening  you  can  come  for  Daisy,  and  I  shall 
be  there,  of  course,  and  we  will  walk  down  to  the 
station,  while  my  sister  and  Daisy  will  drive  over. 
That  is  my  plan,  —  all  cut  and  dried.  Can  you  find 
a  flaw  in  it?  " 

"Not  one,  Draycott.  Daisy  would  be  jest  wild  to 
go.  But  don't  you  see?"  Tom  felt  the  recoil  in 
every  atom  of  the  robust  frame.  "I  ain't  used  to 
such  things.  They're  out  of  my  line.  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  act  when  the  pinch  came." 

"  Dake  Cramley,  I  always  thought  you  were  a 
sensible  fellow ! " 

"But  you  never  could  'a'  thought  I  was  a  cock-o'- 
the-walk  like  that  big  set  you  belong  to." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  your  reason,  all  I  have  to  say  is 
you  are  quite  too  much  a  cock-o'-the-walk  to  suit  me 
just  now." 

"But  I  never  was  in  such  a  swell  house  as  yours. 
It's  one  thing  to  be  out  here  under  the  trees  and  the 
stars  with  you,  and  another  to  be  a  visitor  under 
your  roof.  I  ain't  got  the  manners  to  carry  me 
through  that  part." 

"When  I  insist  that  /want  you  to  come  —  that  it 
will  be  a  pleasure  to  see  you  at  my  house,  won't 
those  reasons  have  some  weight  with  you?  ' 

"  I  might  go  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth  for  you, 
Draycott,  but  —  don't  you  see  ?  —  this  is  different." 

The  dialogue  of  affirmatives  and  negatives  went 
on  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  perhaps.  Tom  car- 


220  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

ried,  one  by  one,  Dake's  defences.  His  weapons 
consisted  mostly  of  grave  arguments,  alternated  with 
earnest  persuasions  and  some  good-natured  ridicule. 
At  last  he  overbore  all  Dake's  shyness  and  reluc- 
tance, and  won  a  perfunctory  promise  that  he  would 
appear  at  Red  Knolls.  But  even  Tom  had  no 
adequate  conception  of  how  he  shrank  from  the 
ordeal. 

As  for  Daisy,  Dake  had  no  fears.  One  does  not 
question  how  an  angel  will  carry  itself  in  the  pres- 
ence-chamber of  kings.  After  all  details  of  the 
visit  had  been  duly  arranged,  Tom  said,  as  they  rose 
to  leave,  — 

"  Well,  Dake,  I  shall  see  you  next  time  under  my 
own  roof-tree.  That  will  be  a  new  experience  to 
both  of  us." 

The  kindliest-intentioned  speech  sometimes  goes 
wide  of  its  mark.  There  was  a  flash  of  conscious- 
ness in  Dake's  face.  Tom  saw  his  mistake,  and 
hastened  to  add  :  — 

"  I  hope  it  may  prove  a  pleasant  one  to  you,  Dake. 
As  for  myself,  I  have  no  doubt  on  the  matter." 

Dake's  mouth  twitched.  "  I  ain't  any  right  to 
cross  your  threshold,  Draycott !"  his  voice  sharp  with 
the  pain  that  was  alive  and  throbbing  under  it.  "It 
all  looks  so  different  to  me  now  from  what  it  did 
then  ;  and  it  looks  wuss  since  I've  come  to  know 
Daisy,  and  seen  how  she  believes  in  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dake  ?  "  asked  Tom  ;  but 
even  while  he  spoke  he  understood.  He  knew  that 


A   HARD-WRUNG    CONSENT  221 

Dake's  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  their  earliest  ac- 
quaintance —  to  a  night  on  the  Belmont  Road. 

There  was  a  little  silence ;  then  Dake  spoke,  his 
voice  half  smothered  in  agitation. 

"  I  mean  tilings  that  have  been  done  —  things  that 
you  and  I  know  —  and  that  can't  be  undone." 

The  words,  the  tone,  the  look,  which  accompanied 
them,  stirred  all  that  was  generous  in  young  Dray- 
cott's  nature. 

"Dake,  I  didn't  take  you  for  such  a  fool!"  he 
burst  out.  "  You  are  not  troubling  yourself  over 
that  old  affair  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  Draycott  ?  "  Dake  clinched 
his  hands  together,  then  wrung  them  apart  as  one 
might  in  physical  agony.  "  It  is  al'ays  comin'  up  to 
me  when  you  are  doin'  me  some  new  kindness,  and 
it  hurts  —  it  hurts  ! "  The  monosyllables  were  a 
low,  wailing  cry. 

Tom's  heart  was  thrilled  with  unutterable  pity. 
To  think  of  the  poor  fellow's  carrying  about  with 
him  such  a  pain,  such  a  memory  ! 

"  Sit  down  here,  Dake,"  his  voice  sharp  with  deter- 
mination. "  We  must  have  this  thing  out  now  and 
forever !  " 

They  resumed  their  seats.  The  street  lights  shot 
long,  glittering  lances  among  the  shadows  that  wa- 
vered whenever  the  winds,  soft-fingered,  touched  the 
boughs  overhead. 

Tom  laid  his  hand  on  Dake's  shoulder. 


222  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  that,"  he  said  in  a  quiet 
tone,  with  a  great  kindliness  all  through  it.  "Even 
had  I  remembered,  I  should  have  said  to  myself,  'If 
I  had  been  in  his  case  I  should  probably  have  done 
as  he  did,  or  worse.' ' 

Dake  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"Ah,  but  you're  saying  all  that  to  comfort  me. 
It  can't  undo  things,  Draycott  —  things  that  make 
me  feel  I  ain't  fit  to  enter  your  house  and  look  your 
people  in  the  face." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  am  the  sole  party  to  decide  that 
matter.  As  to  what  I  just  said,  about  my  doing 
what  you  did  in  your  case  —  well,  if  they  were  the 
last  words  I  should  ever  speak,  they  would  not  be 
more  absolutely  true." 

Dake  turned  now  and  looked  Tom  in  the  eyes. 
The  remorse  and  the  misery  were  still  in  his 
own,  but  some  new  hope  was  struggling  through 
them. 

"Now,  Dake,"  continued  Tom,  "I  am  going  to 
give  you  a  chance  to  do  something  for  me,  —  some- 
thing that  will  send  me  off  to-night,  if  you  consent, 
a  happier  man." 

Dake  sat  more  erect.  "You  know,  Draycott, 
there's  nothing  you  can  ask  I  ain't  ready  to  do;" 

"  Then  you  are  to  promise  me  —  sacred  word  and 
honor,  you  understand — that  you  will  never  think 
of  what  has  passed,  and  which  is  to  me,  and  always 
will  be,  as  though  it  had  never  happened." 


A   HARD-WRUNG    CONSENT  223 

"Ah,  but  it  did,  it  did,  Draycott!"  The  anguish 
leaped  again  into  his  voice. 

Tom  felt  as  if  the  pain  were  in  his  own  heart. 

"  Dake,  that  is  not  doing  what  I  asked." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Then  Dake  laid  his 
hand  on  Tom's  knees  and  Tom  laid  his  own  palm  on 
the  rougher  hand,  and  listened. 

In  a  moment  the  words  struggled  up  low  and 
hoarse,  — 

"I  promise." 

A  few  minutes  later  young  Draycott  was  hurrying 
along  the  sidewalk  whistling  some  Harvard  tune  and 
saying  to  himself,  — 

"  Poor  fellow  !  What  tortures  he  must  have  suf- 
fered !  And  I  had  forgiven  and  forgotten  it  all  so 
long  ago." 

Then  suddenly,  and  in  a  way  he  had  never  done 
before,  Tom  Draycott  thought  of  God's  forgiveness. 
Was  it  in  that  way  he  forgave,  only  infinitely  better, 
infinitely  more  ! 

Tom  stopped  whistling.  A  mist  of  tears  flashed 
in  his  eyes. 


224  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XXIX 

ONE   THING    AND    ANOTHER 

THE  midsummer  days  were  going,  happy  as  days 
could  go,  over  one  little  golden  head  under  the  roof- 
tree  of  Mrs.  Jemima  Bray.  Daisy  Ross  had  become 
the  pet  and  darling  of  that  miscellaneous  household. 
She  was  a  very  incarnation  of  the  sweetness,  the 
freshness,  the  nameless  charm,  of  childhood.  She 
was  alive  in  every  fibre  of  her  small  organism,  full 
of  eager  interest  in  the  novel  scenes  about  her, 
overflowing  with  pretty,  quaint  prattle,  and  keeping 
the  long  table,  at  which  she  sat  in  her  high-chair 
between  Dake  and  Mrs.  Bray,  attent  and  amused 
with  her  talk.  Everybody  petted  her,  repeated  her 
bright  questions,  her  sage  comments,  her  amusing 
speeches.  And  with  this  one  interest  and  pleasure 
in  common,  the  natural  result  followed,  —  the  people 
grew  more  friendly  with  each  other. 

As  for  Daisy  herself,  the  dingy  old  house  which 
had  opened  its  arms  so  wide  and  taken  her  to  its 
heart  was  just  a  heaven  to  her.  There  was  no  hap- 
pier child  the  live-long  day  in  the  palace  nurseries  of 
the  world  than  was- Daisy  Ross  in  Mrs.  Bray's  dingy 
little  sitting-room.  She  unfolded  like  a  flower  trans- 


ONE   THING   AND   ANOTHER  225 

planted  to  a  kindlier  soil  in  this  new  atmosphere  of 
love  and  care  which  surrounded  her.  The  peaked 
face  rounded  its  curves ;  the  pale  cheeks  gathered  a 
soft  wild-rose  bloom,  and  the  lips  between  which  the 
small  white  teeth  glanced  bewitchingly  were  red  as 
carnations. 

A  child  lives  mostly  in  the  present.  All  that  past 
which  Daisy  had  so  suddenly  and  absolutely  left  be- 
hind her  became,  for  the  most  part,  like  some  hideous 
nightmare  from  which  one  awakens  into  the  wide, 
sweet,  reassuring  daylight.  Each  hour  was  crowded 
with  fresh,  delightful  surprises  and  interests  to  the 
eager,  curious  child.  The  little  plot  of  ground  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  with  its  straggling  currant- 
bushes,  its  narrow  flower-bed  in  a  sunny  corner,  of 
sweet-williams,  pinks,  and  yellow  marigolds,  and  its 
one  pear-tree,  shorn  of  much  of  its  ancient  glory,  was 
a  source  of  never-failing  delight  to  the  child.  It  had 
never,  in  its  pride  of  far-spreading  boughs  and  snows 
of  bloom,  sheltered  a  fairer  thing  than  that  little 
golden  head  which  in  its  old  age  came  to  sit  in  its 
lessening  shadow. 

That  summer  the  robins  had  built  a  nest  amonsr 

o 

the  topmost  boughs.  Daisy  would  murmur  to  the 
birds  in  her  soft,  cooing  voice,  — 

"  O  robins,  away  up  there  in  the  leaves,  if  you 
would  only  just  come  down  here  and  light  on  my 
hand,  and  let  me  smooth  your  brown  wings  so  softly ! 
Then,  in  a  minute,  I'd  let  you  fly  back  to  your  nest 


226  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

hung  up  in  the  boughs,  and  I'd  sit  here  a-listeiiin' 
while  you  sung  to  me.  But  you  won't  come,  though 
I  should  call  to  you  all  day;  you  don't  know  me,  and 
you  fear  I  might  be  one  of  the  bad  folks  who  wouldn't 
let  the  little  birds  go  again." 

Daisy  was  extremely  fond  of  Mrs.  Bray,  who  cod- 
dled and  doted  on  her;  but  the  deepest  loyalty  of 
her  child  heart  was  reserved  for  Dake  Cramley.  He 
had  been  her  Angel  of  deliverance.  One  hour  and  one 
scene  were  burned  into  her  childish  memory  and  im- 
agination. She  saw  him  always  as  he  had  looked  at 
the  moment  when  he  had  grasped  her  in  his  strong 
arms,  and  she  stared  up  in  the  midst  of  her  sobbing 
terror  and  pain  to  the  kind,  pitying  eyes  bent  on 
her,  before  they  turned  in  a  blaze  of  fury  on  her  tor- 
mentor. It  was  he  who  had  brought  her  away  from 
the  old  misery,  arid  set  her  amid  all  the  brightness 
and  joy  of  her  present  life.  Nobody  could  take  his 
place;  nobody  be  equal  to  him.  She  could  not,  of 
course,  have  put  it  in  words ;  but  none  the  less  one 
scene  and  one  hour  had,  to  her  eyes,  set  an  aureole 
about  his  head. 

Dake's  return  at  night  formed  for  Daisy  the  crown- 
ing event  of  the  day.  When  the  time  drew  near 
she  would  plant  herself  at  the  window,  and  such  a 
shouting  and  clapping  of  hands  as  would  ensue  when 
she  first  caught  sight  of  him  ! 

Sometimes  this  programme  would  be  changed.  She 
would  be  standing  motionless,  breathless,  with  spark- 


ONE   THING   AND   ANOTHER  227 

ling  eyes  and  strained  ears,  behind  the  door,  listening 
for  the  quick,  well-known  footfall. 

When  Dake  entered  he  would  carry  out  the  joke, 
staring  about  him,  and  saying  to  himself,  grave  and 
puzzled,  "  What  can  have  become' of  Daisy?" 

Then  she  would  spring  from  her  hiding-place  with 
screams  of  laughter,  to  be  snatched  up,  and  shaken, 
and  mounted  on  his  shoulder,  and  marched  through 
the  hall,  while  the  sounds  of  the  frolic  would  reach 
Mrs.  Bray's  ears,  and  make  the  worn,  tired  face  break 
into  a  pleased  smile. 

But  the  happiest  time,  after  all,  though  it  was  a 
quieter  one,  followed  the  supper  hour,  when  the  two 
would  be  together  in  Mrs.  Bray's  sitting-room,  and 
Daisy,  drawing  up  close  to  Dake's  side,  would  relate 
all  the  events  of  the  day.  What  a  bright,  varied 
chapter  the  childish  imagination,  the  lisping,  prattling 
tongue,  made  of  it !  So  many  things  had  happened  ! 
And  all  set  in  such  glowing  atmospheres  of  childish 
wonder,  freshness,  and  delight.  One  day  the  man  at 
the  market  had  given  her  the  loveliest  pink  rose,  and 
said  she  was  like  that ;  another  time  somebody  else 
had  patted  her  curls  and  put  a  big  orange  in  her 
palm — so  big  it  took  both  hands  to  hold  it.  And 
then  the  sights  she  had  seen  on  the  way  home ;  and 
the  things  in  the  shop-windows  when  she  and  Mrs. 
Bray  stopped  to  look  at  them  ! 

And  Dake,  drinking  in  all  this  talk,  and  breaking 
into  a  loud  laugh  occasionally  over  some  sage  remark 


228  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

or  some  charming  ignorance,  found  the  whole  as  new 
and  delightful  an  experience  as  it  was  to  Daisy. 

Sometimes  they  had  walks  in  the  dusk  on  wide 
streets,  or  around  the  Common  ;  and  Dake  would  over- 
hear people  say,  — 

"  Did  you  see  that  beautiful  child  ?  " 

"  What  wonderful  eyes  she  has  !  " 

At  such  times  he  was  more  pleased  and  proud  than 
he  could  possibly  have  been  at  any  compliment  to 
himself.  If  Daisy  overheard,  she  did  not  mind  any 
more  than  the  bobolinks,  pouring  out  their  hearts  in 
song,  mind  when  somebody  praises  their  singing. 

As  for  Dake  himself,  a  great  change  had  come 
over  that  }-outh.  People  —  the  world  —  seemed  dif- 
ferent. This  was  the  case  in  a  marked  degree  at  Mrs. 
Bray's.  It  was  too  much  to  expect  that  she  would 
maintain  inviolable  secrecy  regarding  the  drama  which 
had  taken  place  at  the  North  End.  The  part  Dake 
had  played  could  not  fail  to  reach  primeval  instincts  in 
human  hearts.  The  young  man,  looked  upon  at  first 
as  rather  an  alien,  found  himself  suddenly  trans- 
formed to  a  hero  in  the  regard  of  the  household. 
Daisy's  estimate  of  him,  manifested  in  a  thousand 
pretty,  touching  ways,  was  to  some  degree  reflected 
in  the  minds  of  the  others.  Dake's  fellow-boarders 
made  friendly  overtures,  listened  with  interest  when 
he  spoke,  and  showed  their  kindly  feeling  in  various 
forms.  All  this  was  as  pleasant  as  it  was  novel  an 
experience  to  Dake  Cramley.  His  better  self  un- 


ONE   THING   AND   ANOTHER  229 

folded  in  this  atmosphere  of  approval.  He  had 
things  to  say ;  and  he  said  them  in  a  pleasant,  hearty 
way  which  had  its  effect.  They  began  to  talk  of  his 
good  looks,  his  kindly  smile,  his  pleasant  eyes. 
Some  of  the  boarders  who  had  griefs  or  wrongs  came 
to  him  with  their  troubles,  and  found  him  interested 
and  sympathetic,  as  he  would  not  have  been  if  he  had 
known  less  of  hard  lines  himself. 

There  was  a  great  change  in  the  youth's  whole 
aspect.  Tom  Draycott's  influence  had,  of  course, 
much  to  do  with  this.  That  Harvard  youth  was 
Dake's  model  and  ideal.  He  never  consciously 
sought  to  imitate  his  friend ;  but  he  could  not  love 
and  admire  another  so  thoroughly  without  involun- 
tarily falling  more  or  less  into  his  manners,  his  pro- 
nunciation, his  forms  of  expression.  Dake's  mental 
faculties  were  above  the  average,  and  he  was  still 
young  enough  to  be  susceptible  of  improvement  to 
almost  any  degree. 

But,  even  when  one  is  young,  habits  have  a  great 
power  of  asserting  themselves.  It  was  not  in  human 
nature  that  the  old  restlessness  and  hunger  should 
not  come  back  again,  the  longing  for  the  old  sweet, 
wandering  freedom  when  he  called  no  man  master. 
That  strain  would  probably  be  in  Dake  Cramley's 
blood  while  he  lived.  Perhaps  it  was  some  inherit- 
ance from  rough,  sea-faring  forbears,  or  roaming  gyp- 
sies. No  amount  of  careful  training  would  be  likely 
to  eradicate  an  impulse  which  had  its  legitimate 
rights. 


230  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

But  there  was  Daisy  !  His  thoughts  always  came 
back  to  her;  his  heart  always  conquered  at  the  last. 
The  picture  rose  before  him  of  the  small,  eager  face 
watching  at  the  window,  the  little  golden  head  bent 
to  listen  behind  the  door  for  his  footsteps ;  he  saw 
the  doubt  and  wistfulness  begin  to  creep  over  the 
happy  face ;  he  saw  the  quivering  lips,  the  shadow 
gathering  in  the  bright  eyes ;  he  knew  perfectly  well 
it  would  dog  his  steps  and  draw  him  back  at  night 
wherever  he  went. 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  shook  his  head  in  a 
hopeless  way. 

"  I  couldn't  leave  Daisy.  It  would  break  her 
heart !  "  he  replied  to  something  that  hungered  and 
clamored  inside  of  him. 

It  was  little  more  than  a  baby's  soft  hand  ;  but  it 
had  a  power  to  hold  him  mightier  than  steel  cables. 


A   POOL1    LITTLE    1NNERCENT    PAGAN"         231 


XXX 


DAISY  Ross  seldom  alluded  to  her  past  life,  and 
Mrs.  Bray  and  Dake  Cramley  had  agreed  between 
themselves  to  avoid  the  subject. 

One  day,  however,  it  came  up.  Mrs.  Bray  and 
the  child  were  alone  together.  Daisy  was  absorbed  in 
her  new  tea-set  —  some  coarse  bits  of  painted  pottery 
which  one  of  .the  boarders  had  brought  her,  and 
which,  in  the  child's  eyes,  were  precious  and  beauti- 
ful as  rarest  porcelain. 

As  Mrs.  Bray  watched  the  child  with  pleased  eyes 
a  new  thought  struck  her. 

"  Land  o'  Goshen  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  forgot  all 
about  that ;  I  must  be  gettin'  no  better  than  an  idol- 
worshippin'  heathen,  with  all  these  boarders.  We'll 
begin  this  very  night !  " 

"  What  shall  we  begin  ?  "  asked  Daisy,  looking  up 
from  her  toy  cups  and  saucers. 

"  To  say,  « Now  I  lay  me,'  child." 

"  I  don't  know  what* that  is." 

"It's  a  nice  little  verse — a  prayer  which  good 
little  children  al'ays  say  to  God  every  night.  He's  a 
long  way  off,  but  all  the  same  he  can  hear." 


232  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Daisy  started  and  shuddered. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  to  kirn  !  "  she  cried 
sharply. 

Mrs.  Bray  was  bewildered,  shocked. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  sayin',  Daisy  ?  Do 
you  know  who  God  is?  " 

"  He's  something  big  and  awful,"  answered  the 
child,  forgetting  her  toys  and  on  the  point  of  break- 
ing down  into  a  sob.  "That  bad  man  called  on  him 
every  time  he  was  drunk.  He'd  shout  his  name  and 
curse  everybody.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  to 


With  sudden  terror,  as  the  old  scenes  came  back, 
she  ran  to  Mrs.  Bray  and  hid  her  face  in  the  woman's 
lap.  She  drew  Daisy  into  her  arms,  and  soothed  her 
with  tender  words  and  caresses.  All  the  while  she 
was  saying  to  herself,  — 

"  This  is  the  very  last  hour  you  shall  be  a  poor 
little  innercent  pagan  !  " 

As  soon  as  the  child  was  quieted,  Mrs.  Bray  set 
about  her  missionary  work.  She  devoted  the  after- 
noon to  it.  It  was  all  as  novel,  as  startling,  as  awe- 
inspiring  to  the  imaginative  child  as  the  story  of 
God  and  his  heaven  must  be  to  the  young  South 
Sea  Islander  when  he  leaves  his  fetish  to  hear  about 
them  for  the  first  time. 

Mrs.  Bray's  talk  of  course  took  a  tinge,  more  or 
less,  from  her  own  personality.  Her  theology  was 
partly  composed  of  the  creed  of  her  childhood,  of 


"A   POOR    LITTLE   INNERCENT   PAGAN"         233 

Bible  verses  which  lingered  in  her  memory,  and  of 
pious  hymns  and  songs.  No  doubt  many  good  people 
would  have  found  curious  contradictions,  and  much  to 
criticise  and  supplement  in  this  talk ;  but  the  story 
she  told  that  afternoon  in  the  stuffy  old  sitting-room 
to  the  sweet,  eager  child  was  the  one  which  is  the 
life  and  hope  of  Christendom.  Daisy's  swift  child's 
imagination,  her  warm  heart,  her  native  intuitions, 
seized  upon  that  central  truth,  alike  for  the  small  and 
the  great,  the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  the  great  Power, 
the  greater  Love,  at  the  heart  of  the  universe.  It 
was  all  very  realistic  to  the  child.  She  broke  in  with 
innumerable  questions,  some  of  which  made  Mrs. 
Bray  laugh,  and  some  made  her  cry,  and  others 
sorely  perplexed  her  to  answer. 

Daisy's  notions  regarding  the  geography  of  heaven 
were  very  much  mixed.  She  gathered  at  last  a 
vague  idea  that  it  was  somehow  "  pieced  on "  to 
the  end  of  this  world.  She  had  not  any  clear  idea 
of  what  death  meant.  Mrs.  Bray's  talk  did  not  in- 
clude that  subject.  She  could  not  herself  remember 
a  time  when  she  did  not  know  "  everybody  must 
die,"  and  probably  took  for  granted  that  that  knowl- 
edge, as  Dogberry  thought  of  reading  and  writing, 
"  comes  by  nature." 

"  And  heaven  is  such  a  grand,  beautiful  place," 
repeated  Daisy,  her  child's  imagination  dwelling  on 
this  salient  point.  "  Is  it  such  a  very  long  way  to 
get  there  ?  " 


234  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear  —  not  when  the  time  comes  to 

"But  how  do  we  go  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  pause.  The  memory  of  one  of 
her  child-hymns  came  to  Mrs.  Bray  opportunely. 

"  We  go  over  the  River  Jordan." 

"  What  is  a  river  ?  " 

"  It  is  water  —  a  great  wide  stretch  of  water. 
Everybody  has  to  go  to  heaven  that  way." 

Daisy's  eyes  grew  dark  and  startled.  She  clung 
closer  to  Mrs.  Bray. 

"  But  I  should  be  afraid  !    I  should  be  drowndid  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Daisy.  God  would  look  out  for  that. 
He  would  send  his  own  beautiful  angel  to  carry  you 
over.  The  water  wouldn't  hurt  you." 

She  sat  still,  pondering  a  little  while,  the  ra- 
diance growing  in  the  great  eyes.  Then  she  asked 
softly,  — 

"  And  you  say  my  own  mamma  has  gone  to  that 
beautiful  heaven  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  has ;  and  she's  a-waitin'  for  you,  my 
blessed  darlin'.  All  good  folks  go  straight  there 
when  they  die." 

"And  she  will  know  me,  you  think  ?  You  see,  I'm 
so  much  bigger  now ! "  Then,  before  Mrs.  Bray 
could  reply,  she  continued,  "  But  I  could  ask  some 
angel  where  she  was ;  and  when  he  told  me,  I  could 
go  straight  to  her  and  say,  'I'm  Daisy!'  That 
would  be  enough." 


I 

"A   POOR    LITTLE   INNE11CENT   PAGAN  "         235 

A  while  afterward  she  asked  gravely,  "  You  say 
the  good  folks  go  to  h6aven,  Miss  Bray  ;  where  do 
the  bad  ones  go  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bray  always  felt  she  was  inspired  to  reply, 
which  she  did  after  a  brief  pause,  speaking  very 
solemnly,  — 

"  Daisy,  you  know  what  the  bad  people  are  —  the 
people  who  don't  believe  in  God,  or  care  to  please 
him.  You  know  what  kind  of  a  place  they  make 
here.  Would  they  want  to  go  to  God  do  you 
think?" 

The  child  thought  of  the  North  End.  She  drew 
one  of  her  long,  wavering  breaths. 

"No,  they  wouldn't,"  she  said. 

That  evening  when  she  and  Dake  were  alone  to- 
gether, she  broke  out  on  the  subject  of  which  her 
heart  and  thoughts  were  full. 

"  O  Dakie,  I've  been  learning  all  about  it!  " 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"  About  God,  who  is  so  great  and  good,  and  who  is 
our  Father,  and  who  lives  in  his  big,  beaut'f  ul  heaven, 
and  who  will  take  us  all  there  —  all  the  good  folks, 
I  mean  —  to  stay  and  be  happy  for  always  and  always. 
My  own  papa  and  mamma  are  there,  and  you  and  I 
will  go  and  see  them  some  time.  But  why  didn't 
you  tell  me,  Dakie?  " 

As  he  heard  the  question,  as  he  looked  at  the 
child,  something  in  Dake  Cramley's  soul  was  stirred 
into  a  longing  to  be  all  the  child  believed  him.  He 


236  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

felt  for  the  moment  like  a  secret  impostor  in  that 
small  presence.  If  she  could  know  the  real  Dake, 
would  she,  amazed  and  horrified,  turn  and  flee  from 
him  forever?  Scenes  of  his  past  life,  things  he 
had  done  without  a  question  of  right  or  wrong  con- 
cerning them,  came  up  now.  Memories  stabbed 
him;  his  conscience  was  quickened:  he  was  acquiring 
new  ethical  standards,  new  processes  of  thought  and 
motive  powers,  and  he  did  not  realize  that  this  was 
partly  due  to  the  influence  of  the  child  who  abso- 
lutely believed  in  and  trusted  him. 

He  felt  to-night  as  though  a  great  gulf  lay  between 
them.  Yet  he  would  not  consciously,  by  word  or 
act,  have  soiled  that  transparent  childish  innocence, 
any  more  than  her  dead  mother  would  have  done. 

But  her  big,  questioning  eyes  were  on  his  face. 

u  I  —  I  thought  I'd  leave  Mrs.  Bray  to  tell  you 
about  that,"  speaking  the  thing  which  came  first. 

"  But  why,  Dakie,"  she  lisped  very  earnestly, 
"  when  you  and  I  are  goin'  there  some  time,  you 
know?  Of  course  you  would  wait  for  me  until  I 
corned,  as  I  should  for  you  if  I  got  there  first." 

"  Of  course  you'll  get  there  all  right,  Daisy,"  de- 
vouring her  with  his  eyes.  "  As  for  me,  that's 
another  question  ! " 

She  sat  still  in  her  small  rocking-chair  by  his  side, 
regarding  him  with  some  wonder  and  concern  in  her 
upraised  eyes.  Something  in  his  tone  or  manner 
struck  and  confused  her  childish  instincts.  She 


"A    POOH   LITTLE   INNERCENT   PAGAN"         237 

could  not  have  put  her  feelings  into  words,  but  she 
had  a  vague  intuition  that  something  was  troubling 
him. 

She  sprang  up  impulsively,  and  crossed  her  arms 
on  his  knee,  which  was  one  of  her  pretty  attitudes. 

"  Dakie,  I  know  just  how  it  will  be.  Shall  I  tell 
you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  patting  her  head.  These  caressing 
movements  had  grown  very  natural  to  him,  though 
at  first  he  had  been  shy  and  awkward  at  attempting 
them.  "  I  want  to  hear,  Daisy." 

"  Well,  it  will  be  just  this  way.  When  the  time 
comes  you'll  walk  up  and  stand  at  the  gate,  and  the 
angel  that  keeps  it  will  hear  and  call  out  loud,  — 

"  '  Who's  there  ? ' 

"  And  you'll  tell  him  your  name.  And  then  the 
great  shinin'  gate  will  go  back  with  a  loud  b-a-n-g, 
and  the  beaut'f  ul  angel  with  the  great  white  wings 
will  say,  — 

"  '  Oh,  I  know  who  you  be  !  Come  right  in, 
Dakie!'" 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  conversation  Daisy 
was  taken  suddenly  ill.  When  Dake  returned  at 
night  there  was  no  small  golden  head  at  the  window, 
no  rush  of  little  feet,  with  laughing  shouts,  in  the 
hall. 

A  thousand  fears  started  like  dark  spectres  in  his 
thoughts.  He  hurried  to  Mrs.  Bray's  room,  where 


238  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

it  was  a  relief  to  find  Daisy,  though  she  lay  like  a 
storm-swept  flower  on  the  lounge.  The  wild  rose 
had  paled  in  her  cheeks.  When  she  heard  Dake's 
footstep  she  roused  herself  a  little,  smiled  faintly, 
and  tried  to  speak ;  but  the  words  died  amid  panting 
breaths  and  a  little  sharp  moan  of  pain.  Then  the 
long,  shining  lashes  closed  heavily  over  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Bray  was  bending  over  the  child,  anxious, 
and  somewhat  alarmed.  She  had  noticed  that  Daisy 
was  not  well  that  morning,  and  the  child  had 
drooped  during  the  day  and  grown  feverish.  The 
woman  had  been  hurrying  back  and  forth,  applying 
the  remedies  with  which  her  experience}  of  childish 
ailments  made  her  familiar. 

But  Dake,  who  had  very  little  knowledge  of  ill- 
ness, was  torn  with  fears  at  sight  of  his  prostrate 
darling.  He  followed  his  hostess  into  another  room. 
His  face  was  blanched;  he  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
words  died  in  a  husky  sound  in  his  throat. 

"  Don't  be  so  upset,  my  dear  young  man,"  said 
Mrs.  Bray,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "It  all 
comes  of  them  pesky  plums  !  They  wasn't  ripe,  and 
I  ought  to  have  stood  out  ag'in  her  eatin'  'em. 
What  with  candies  and  rich  cakes  and  fruit  of  one 
sort  and  another  the  boarders  are  al'ays  bringin'  that 
child,  it's  a  wonder  her  little  stomach  wasn't  upset 
before  this.  Of  course  folks  mean  well,  and  I've 
done  my  best  to  warn  'em,  but  it  did  as  much  good 
as  talkin'  to  the  winds.  When  she  gets  well  I  shall 
put  my  foot  down  I  " 


"  A    POOR    LITTLE    INNERCENT    PAGAN  "         239 

Dake,  somewhat  reassured,  returned  to  Daisy;  but 
the  sight  of  the  little  white  face  under  that  curtain 
of  golden  hair  sent  a  fresh  chill  to  his  heart.  The 
thought  that  Daisy  might  die  flashed  over  him.  It 
seemed  like  blotting  the  sun  out  of  heaven.  The 
terror  that  clutched  at  his  heart  leaped  out  in  an 
anguished  cry,  — 

"  O  God,  leave  me  Daisy  !     Only  leave  me  Daisy  !  " 

It  was  his  first  prayer. 

Mrs.  Bray's  diagnosis  proved  correct,  and  her 
remedies  effectual. 

The  next  morning  Daisy  was  better,  and  her  whole 
system  rebounded  with  the  elasticity  of  a  healthy 
child.  But  the  absence  of  that  little  bright  presence 
from  the  table  had  made  a  deep  impression.  Mrs. 
Bray  seized  the  occasion  to  paint  in  strong  terms  the 
danger  to  which  Daisy  had  been  exposed ;  she  im- 
plored her  household  not  to  tempt  the  little  palate, 
and  risk  the  child's  life. 


240  "SIUS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN 


XXXI 

NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS 

EAELY  one  afternoon  a  small  basket-carriage  with 
a  yellow  awning  and  the  daintiest  little  thorough- 
bred dark-coated  mare  were  drawn  up  before  Mrs. 
Bray's  front  door.  In  the  parlor,  awaiting  the  host- 
ess, a  young  lady  had  been  seated  for  several  minutes. 
This  was  Dorothy  Draycott. 

She  glanced  about  the  parlor,  her  young  eyes  tak- 
ing in  the  whole, — the  old-fashioned,  faded  ingrain 
carpet  of  sprawling  crimson  figures  on  a  background 
of  dark  green ;  the  chairs  and  sofa  upholstered  in 
hair-cloth  of  the  fashion  of  half  a  century  ago ;  the 
high  carved  mantel-piece,  ornamented  witli  a  good 
deal  of  ware  in  china  figures  and  high-colored  vases. 
Dorothy  was  conscious,  despite  the  open  windows,  of 
various  culinary  odors  in  the  air.  These  seemed  a 
part  of  the  place  as  much  as  the  large  red  figures 
of  the  carpet,  or  the  stags'  heads  on  the  wall  paper. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  thin,  tallish  woman  with  a 
sallow,  plaintive  kind  of  face,  and  a  rather  company 
smile  which  puckered  all  the  lines  about  her  mouth, 
entered  the  room. 

Dorothy  rose   at   once.     The   tired,   worn  elderly 


NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS       241 

woman,  whose  life  had  long  been  a  struggle  with 
hard  fortunes,  and  whose  years  were  now  getting 
deeper  among  their  autumnal  frosts,  and  the  young 
girl  whose  life  had  been  nested  in  a  refined  and 
elegant  home,  and  amid  all  wise  and  tender  family 
loves,  and  whose  years  were  in  the  dew  and  blossom- 
ing of  their  Maytime,  looked  curiously  at  each 
other. 

"Mrs.  Bray,  I  believe?"  said  Dorothy.  The  soft 
young  voice  was  pleasant  to  hear.  "  I  am  Miss 
Draycott." 

Mrs.  Bray  made  her  best  bow,  and  expressed  her- 
self as  very  happy  to  meet  Miss  Draycott.  She  had 
donned  her  black  silk  gown,  which  had  seen  a  good 
many  years'  service,  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 

Dorothy  stated  her  errand  briefly.  She  had  called 
for  Daisy  Ross.  No  doubt  Mrs.  Bray  understood 
how  the  matter  had  all  been  arranged  between  her 
brother  Tom  and  Mr.  Cramley. 

Mrs.  Bray  acquiesced.  Daisy  was  all  ready  to 
go,  she  said,  and  had  Liardly  talked  of  anything 
else  for  the  last  two  days. 

After  exchanging  a  few  more  sentences,  Mrs.  Bray, 
excusing  herself,  left  the  room.  In  a  few  moments 
she  returned,  leading  by  the  hand  what  struck 
Dorothy  as  the  loveliest  child  she  had  ever  seen. 

The  household,  its  feminine  portion  at  least,  had 
been  aroused  to  a  deep  interest  in  this  projected  visit 
of  Daisy  to  Red  Knolls.  Her  dress  for  the  occasion 


242  "  sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN  " 

had  been  a  matter  of  grave  conference  between  the 
landlady  and  some  of  her  boarders.  The  ultimate 
was  a  child's  white  frock  of  barred  muslin,  with  a 
girdle  of  light  sky-blue  ribbon.  A  pretty  straw  hat 
was  scarfed  and  looped  with  the  same  shade.  A  pair 
of  new  morocco  slippers  completed  the  whole. 

Daisy  stood  still  a  few  moments  gazing  at  the 
stranger  with  -delighted,  wide-eyed  surprise.  She 
had  the  fearlessness  and  trust  of  perfect  childish 
innocence ;  and  when  Dorothy  leaned  forward  with 
outstretched  hands,  she  came  over  to  her  at  once, 
and  asked,  while  her  eager  breath  panted  through  the 
words,  — 

"  Have  you  come  for  me  to  go  with  you  to  Red 
Knolls?  " 

Dorothy  bent  down,  and  the  two  sweet  mouths 
kissed  each  other. 

"  Yes,  I  have  come,  Daisy.  The  carriage  is  at 
the  door ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Bray  kindly  tells  me  you  are 
ready,  we  will  start  at  once." 

Mrs.  Bray  was  a  proud  and  pleased  woman  as  she 
watched  that  afternoon  from  her  front  door  the 
small  carriage  with  the.  little  shiny  coated  thorough- 
bred roll  away.  When  it  had  disappeared  she 
turned  in-doors  with  a  feeling,  which  was  perhaps 
stronger  because  she  did  not  stop  to  analyze  it,  that 
her  life  had  been  brightened  and  lifted  to  a  plane  of 
higher  consequence  by  this  visit.  Some  crumbs  from 
the  richer,  fairer  board  had  fallen  to  her  own  share. 


NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS       243 

Dorothy  struck  off  soon  into  the  wider,  statelier 
thoroughfares.  Daisy  sat  very  still  by  her  side, 
drinking  in  with  wondering  eyes  the  novel  scenes 
about  her.  Dorothy  smiled  down  occasionally ;  but 
her  attention  was  a  good  deal  engaged  at  this  point 
by  Sphinx,  and  there  was  very  little  talk  on  either 
side. 

When  they  reached  the  Harvard  Bridge,  Daisy 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  the  river,  blue  and  spark- 
ling under  the  summer  skies. 

She  gave  a  swift  start ;  she  drew  closer  to  Dorothy. 
A  great  wonder,  a  possible  fear,  was  in  her  face. 

"What  is  that?  "  she  asked  in  an  awed  tone. 

"That  is  the  river,  Daisy, ; — the  great,  beautiful 
river.  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  And  are  we  going  over  it?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  to  be 
afraid  of.  I  shall  take  care  of  you." 

Dorothy's  words,  with  the  tone  and  smile,  seemed 
to  reassure  the  child.  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
gazed  in  silent  wonder  at  the  sparkling  waves.  Oc- 
casionally she  turned  and  stared  curiously  at  Doro- 
thy with  a  half-awesome  look  in  her  radiant  eyes. 
The  young  girl  always  smiled  back.  She  wondered 
a  little  what  was  going  011  in  that  small  brain ;  she 
tried  to  put  herself  in  Daisy's  place,  seeing  that  water 
for  the  first  time. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  bridge  Dorothy  turned 
to  her  charge,  saying,  — 


244  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  There  was  no  danger,  you  see,  Daisy." 

"No;  I  wasn't  afraid,"  she  answered;  and  again 
she  looked  at  Dorothy  with  her  bright,  curious  gtize. 

They  drove  up  North  Avenue,  and  out  on  the  pleas- 
ant Arlington  high  way.  It  was  a  perfect  midsum- 
mer afternoon.  Light  winds  from  the  sea  breathed 
their  coolness  through  the  air.  Familiar  as  the  whole 
scene  was  to  Dorothy  Draycott,  it  seemed  to  have 
been  touched  with  some  new  poetic  charm  and  ideal- 
ity. Every  year  has  its  days  of  this  sort.  They  are 
only  a  little  handful  at  best ;  but  they  belong  to  a 
higher  mood  than  ordinary  days,  and  seem  to  stand, 
like  divine  messengers,  beautiful  and  glorified,  be- 
tween all  the  storms  which  have  been  and  all  which 
are  to  come.  Wearied  hearts  are  quickened,  and 
dulled  imaginations  are  exalted.  New  vistas  unfold 
themselves  in  these  finer  atmospheres,  and  the  soul 
has  glimpses  of  the  nobler  meanings  ahd  the  real 
grandeur  of  human  life. 

As  they  drove  along  through  the  lavish  greenery, 
through  the  shade  and  shine,  and  all  the  summer 
bloom  whose  flood-tide  was  drowning  the  land,  Dor- 
othy's young  heart  sang  within  her.  Was  this  only 
an  everyday  afternoon  ?  she  asked  herself.  Did  this 
ineffable  charm  and  loveliness  exist  only  in  her  own 
eyes?  She  wondered  how  it  seemed  to  the  small 
creature  at  her  side,  whose  big  eyes  were  devouring 
it  all,  and  to  whom  it  must  be  almost  as  novel  as  the 
landscape  of  another  planet.  But  she  sat  silent,  ab- 


NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS       245 

sorbed,  and  Dorothy  left  the  beauty  to  tell  its  message 
in  its  own  way  to  the  child's  heart,  as  blunter  sym- . 
pathies  or  a  coarser  imagination  would  not  have  done. 

At  last  they  reached  Red  Knolls,  and  swept  around 
the  great  terraces  and  the  ample  driveway  to  the 
front. 

And  Daisy,  ushered  by  its  girl-mistress,  entered 
the  house. 

For  the  next  two  hours  the  pair  went  about  from 
large  room  to  room,  up  stairs  and  down,  of  the 
spacious  home.  The  furnishings,  the  decorations, 
the  whole  effect,  were  of  course  a  new,  almost  over- 
powering spectacle  to  Daisy  Ross.  Occasionally  she 
asked  a  question.  Her  eyes  did  the  rest.  It  seemed 
to  Dorothy  that  they  grew  into  great,  radiant  inter- 
jection points. 

At  length  they  came  down-stairs,  and  stood  together 
in  the  wide  hall,  and  again  Daisy  looked  at  her  young 
hostess  with  that  singular  unfathomable  gaze.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Dorothy  began  to  wish  the  child  would 
find  her  tongue. 

A  sudden  movement  puzzled  her.  Daisy  had 
slipped  behind  her  back.  In  a  moment  the  small 
head  reappeared  again. 

"  Do  you  take  them  off  sometimes  ?  "  she  inquired 
softly,  eagerly. 

"  Take  off  what,  Daisy  ?  " 

"  I  mean  your  wings." 

"  But  I  have  no  wings,  Daisy." 


246  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  I  thought  all  angels  had  wings,"  in  a  rather  dis- 
appointed tone. 

"  I  believe  they  have,  Daisy." 

Then  Dorothy  began  to  get  a  glimpse  into  the 
heart  of  things.  She  drew  Daisy  to  her. 

"  O  child !  what  made  you  think  that  ?  " 

She  was  a  young  girl,  moved  to  swift  mirth  by  all 
things  absurd  or  incongruous ;  but  she  could  not 
laugh  now. 

"  Ain't  you  one  ?  "  inquired  Daisy,  gravely  staring 
at  Dorothy. 

"  Oh,  no  —  no  —  not  in  the  least !  " 

"I  thought  you  was  when  I  see  the  River  Jordan. 
Miss  Bray  told  me  the  angels  would  carry  me  safe 
over  to  heaven." 

The  mystery  of  the  long  silence,  the  bright,  awed 
wonder  in  the  eyes,  blue  as  summer  seas  in  cloudless 
noondays,  was  all  getting  very  clear  to  Dorothy  now. 

"But,  my  little  Daisy,  that  was  not  the  River 
Jordan  at  all ;  it  was  the  Charles  River." 

"  Nobody  ever  telled  me  there  was  another  river ; 
but  it  must  lead  to  heaven  too,"  she  added  confi- 
dently. 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure,  Daisy  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  all  so  beaut'ful  here.  I  don't  b'lieve 
heaven  can  be  beaut'fuller !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  —  a  great,  great  deal !  " 

This  dialogue  had  been  punctuated  with  frequent 
hugs  and  caresses  on  the  part  of  Dorothy.  She 


NOT    HEAVEN,    BUT    RED    KNOLLS  247 

lifted  the  child  on  her  lap  now,  and  after  a  brief 
process  of  reasoning,  such  as  she  found  adapted  to 
her  little  kindergartners,  Daisy  was  convinced  that 
Miss  Draycott  was  not  the  angel,  nor  Red  Knolls  the 
heaven,  nor  Charles  River  the  Jordan  she  had  fan- 
cied them.  She  listened,  grave  and  eager,  twisting 
her  little  fingers  together  while  Dorothy  talked.  It 
was  evident  that  she  gave  up  her  idea  reluctantly ; 
but  she  was  soon  solaced  with  the  thought  that  if 
heaven  was  not  at  hand,  all  this  beauty  was  still  left. 
She  confessed  to  Dorothy  she  had  been  on  the  look- 
out for  the  great  walls  and  the  big  shining  gates,  and 
wondered  they  did  not  appear.  She  also  avowed  her 
intention  of  telling  the  angel  who  kept  guard  there 
her  name,  with  a  request  that  he  would  give  her  a 
home  just  like  the  one  at  Red  Knolls.  She  inquired 
with  some  anxiety  of  Dorothy  whether  she  thought 
he  would  be  likely  to  do  this  ? 

"  Oh,  you  adorable  little  darling ! "  exclaimed 
Dorothy.  "  I  think  you  will  have  whatever  you 
want." 

She  hugged  Daisy  again.  After  this  there  was 
no  more  silence.  Daisy's  prattle  had  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  charm  of  her  childhood.  She  gave  Dorothy 
numerous  glimpses  into  her  life  at  Mrs.  Bray's.  It 
barely  covered  a  month,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  fill  all 
the  child's  horizon. 

One  figure  was  always  in  the  foreground  of  this 
talk.  It  was  that  of  Dake  Cramley.  Daisy  drew 


248  "  sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN  " 

rapid,  vivid  pictures  of  tlieir  lives  together,  of  his 
coming  home  at  night,  of  the  fun  and  frolic  that 
ensued,  and  of  their  evening  walks  on  the  Common. 

As  Dorothy  listened,  she  lelt  a  greater  curiosity 
than  ever  to  see  the  youth. 

At  last  Hidalgo  came  in.  Dorothy  knew  that  this 
meant  he  was  on  the  watch  for  his  young  master's 
return.  She  felt  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  regarding 
Tom's  first  interview  with  Daisy.  It  would  be  a  fine 
test  of  the  small  creature's  fascinations.  Tom  was 
no  admirer  of  children  in  the  aggregate ;  he  regarded 
them  as  "  insufferable,  clamorous  little  nuisances, 
sure  to  get  in  the  way  and  make  their  wants  voluble 
at  the  wrong  time." 

That  huge-limbed,  solemn-faced  Hidalgo  fascinated 
Daisy  at  once.  He  stretched  his  long  length  on  the 
floor  and  looked  at  the  novel  specimen  of  femi- 
nine humanity  before  him  with  solemn,  unwinking 
gravity. 

At  last  Daisy  was  persuaded  to  go  over  and  stroke 
his  head.  She  did  this  very  tentatively  at  first. 
Hidalgo,  usually  reserved  with  strangers,  submitted 
to  her  advances  without  the  ghost  of  a  growl.  In  a 
little  while  she  was  pinching  his  ears  and  patting  his 
spine.  Of  all  the  wonderful  objects  she  had  seen  at 
Red  Knolls,  Hidalgo  was  the  most  interesting.  Dor- 
othy, called  a  short  time  from  the  room,  left  the  pair 
alone  together  on  the  happiest  terms  with  each  other. 

"  Hidalgo,  you've  got  a  long,  grand  name.     And 


NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS       249 

you  are  the  awfallest  big  dog  I  ever  see,  and  I  like 
you  truly.  Can  you  hear  what  I  say  now  ?  "  she 
asked,  one  little  arm  stretched  as  far  as  it  would 
reach  about  his  neck. 

At  that  instant  a  tall,  blond,  sinewy-framed  young 
man  entered  the  room.  He  glanced  at  the  group, 
made  a  formal  bow  to  the  child,  went  over  to  the 
lounge,  and  seated  himself  with  the  air  of  one  who 
felt  perfectly  at  home.  Hidalgo  rose  at  once  and 
carried  his  long  length  over  to  him. 

Daisy  rose  too,  and  returned  to  her  low  chair. 
The  young  man  and  the  child  looked  at  each  other  in 
absolute  silence,  she  with  the  solemn,  steady,  probing 
gaze  of  childhood,  and  he  with  a  face  empty  of  every 
expression  as  was  possible  to  an  intelligent  human 
being.  In  this  way  the  two  stared  at  each  other  for 
more  than  a  minute.  He,  meanwhile,  under  the 
gargoyle-like  visage  he  had  drawn  on,  was  mentally 
saying,  — 

"  What  a  stunning  pair  of  eyes  !  " 

Then  a  sudden  change,  a  flash  of  intelligence, 
came  over  the  child's  face. 

"  Oh,  I  know  who  you  be  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
are  Mr.  Tom  Draycott.  Dakie  told  me  about  you; 
he  says  you  are  the  goodest  man  in  the  world." 

"  Whew  !  that  is  a  staggering  compliment  to  hurl 
at  a  fellow's  head." 

"  But  Dakie  says  so,"  persisted  Daisy,  rather  in- 
dignantly, as  though  his  word  had  been  impugned ; 


250  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

and  then  another  season  of  solemn  stare  followed  on 
both  sides. 

Of  course  Tom  had  identified  the  small  stranger 
at  a  glance.  At  last  the  prolonged  stare  was  trans- 
formed into  a  smile.  Tom  Draycott's  had  a  singular 
attraction  of  its  own.  In  a  few  moments  Daisy 
slipped  off  her  chair,  ran  across  the  room,  and  lifted 
up  her  face  to  him.  The  whole  action  was  simply 
bewitching.  Tom  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her 
heartily.  Then  he  lifted  the  little  figure  and  seated 
it  by  his  side. 

"  So  you  are  Daisy  Ross,"  he  said,  regarding  with 
pleased,  curious  eyes  the  lovely,  rosy  incarnation  of 
childhood  before  him  ;  "  Dake's  Daisy?" 

"  Yes ;  I  am  his  more  than  anybody's.'  She 
nestled  back  on  the  deep  lounge  until  her  feet  rested 
on  its  edge.  The  little  polished  black  slippers 
caught  her  attention.  She  gazed  at  them  admir- 
ingly, her  head  bent  a  little  on  one  side.  Then  she 
turned  to  Tom. 

"  They  was  new  to-day,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you 
think  they're  nice  ?  " 

"Very;  and  I  think  the  little  white  feet  inside 
those  slippers  must  be  very  nice  too." 

"  Oh,  I  never  thought  about  them  !  " 

"How  did  you  get  here,' Daisy?"  asked  Tom,  for 
the  purpose  of  drawing  her  out. 

"  I  corned  in  a  beaut'ful  carriage,  and  the  loveliest 
lady  brought  me.  I  didn't  know  there  could  be  any 


NOT    HEAVEN,    BUT   RED    KNOLLS  251 

place  like  this.  I  thought  it  was  "  —  she  stopped, 
gazing  at  him  intently  with  her  great  eyes,  which  now 
were  the  shade  of  the  gentians  that  grow  in  lonely, 
moist  places. 

"  What  did  you  think  it  was?" 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  tell  you." 

"But  why  not?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  just.  Maybe  it's  'cause  I  haven't 
seen  you  very  long." 

"  But  I  hope  we  can  be  the  best  of  friends,  so  you 
can  tell  me  anything." 

"  P Yaps  I  can ;  but  it  takes  a  little  while,  you 
know." 

When  Dorothy  returned  a  little  later  she  found  the 
two  in  the  full  tide  of  the  most  amusing  talk.  Daisy 
sat  beside  Tom,  with  the  fearlessness  of  absolute  in- 
nocence, her  bright,  quaint  rejoinders  to  his  questions 
going  straight  to  the  point. 

"  Do  you  two  live  here  ? "  she  asked  after  a  little 
while,  gazing  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  Always  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Is  she  your  wife  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  Tom. 

This  was  a  challenge  it  was  not  in  young  human 
nature  to  resist.  He  drew  his  most  solemn  face. 

"No,  thank  the  fates,  she  is  not  my  wife.  As  it 
is,  I  can  barely  hold  my  own  in  some  feeble,  inade- 
quate fashion  ;  but  I  shudder  to  think  of  the  forlorn, 


252  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

submissive,  henpecked  creature  I  should  be  reduced 
to  if  she  were  more  than  my  sister." 

This  chaffing  bewildered  Daisy.  She  stared  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"Which  is  nicest,  wife  or  sister?"  she  interro- 
gated gravely. 

"  If  you  should  ask  me  that  question,  say  fifteen 
years  later,  I  should  tell  you  '  wife,'  by  all  means ; 
but  I  should  be  such  a  venerable  creature  by  that 
time  that  you  would  doubtless  give  me  the  mitten." 

"  I  don't  wear  mittens  ;  I  wear  gloves,"  with  a 
pretty  assumption  of  infantile  dignity.  "  But  if  you 
should  want  a  mitten,  and  I  had  one,  I'd  give  it  to 
you.  What  could  you  do  with  it,  though  ?  " 

She  placed  her-  little  hand  by  the  side  of  his 
big,  muscular  one,  brown  with  rowing  and  ball 
games,  and  then  she  looked  up  archly  in  his  face  and 
laughed. 

All  this  talk  was  accented  by  nameless  childish 
movements  and  gestures,  by  lisps  and  little  indrawn 
breaths,  and  inflected  verbs  which  followed  their  own 
law  of  analogy,  and  by  articulation  which  stammered 
and  failed  sometimes  among  the  trisyllables. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom  after  a  little  more  of  this  chaff- 
ing, "  if  you  are  not  the  most  bewitching  mite  of  fem- 
inine humanity  that  ever  came  within  my  experience  ! 
I  shudder  for  my  sex,  thinking  what  you  will  be  — 
say  less  than  two  decades  from  this  time." 

Daisy  evidently  did  not  appreciate  this  compliment. 


NOT  HEAVEN,  BUT  RED  KNOLLS       253 

"  I  shall  be  just  the  same,"  she  said,  "  only  bigger 
—  ever  so  much  bigger." 

"Ex — act  —  ly!  Pre  —  cise  —  ly!"  drawled  Tom. 
'•Be  just  what  you  are  this  moment,  only  'bigger  — 
ever  so  much  bigger,'  —  and  all  mankind  will  be  at 
your  feet." 

"  I  shouldn't  want  'em  there,"  with  a  little  dis- 
gusted movement  of  her  head.  "  I  should  say,  '  Oh, 
don't !  Do  get  up,  please.'  " 

She  was  growing  bewildered  and  annoyed.  Doro- 
thy, who  had  been  greatly  amused  by  this  dialogue, 
felt  it  was  time  to  interfere. 

"You  will  have  her  crying  if  you  go  on  in  this 
teasing  way,"  she  said  to  Tom  sub  voce. 

Daisy  slipped  off  the  lounge,  resumed  her  chair  by 
Dorothy's  side,  turned  to  Tom,  and  said  with  a  disap- 
proving air  and  tone,  — 

"  I  don't  unnerstand  your  kind  of  talk." 

"  Why,  my  little  Daisy,  I  wouldn't  tease  you  for 
the  world-!  Doesn't  Dakie  joke  you  and  make  fun 
sometimes  ?  " 

"Ye  — '6s  ;  but  I  unnerstand  his  talk,  and  I  don't 
your  kind." 

"  Well,  you  can  understand  this.  I'm  very  sorry. 
Won't  you  forgive  me  this  time  ?  " 

Tom's  smile  accented  his  words.  After  a  moment  or 
two  Daisy  rose,  went  over  and  lifted  her  face  to  give 
him  a  kiss,  which  was  returned  in  double  measure. 

"O    Tom    Draycott,  "    thought    Dorothy,    "how 


254  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

often  I  have  heard  you  insist  that  kissing  babies  and 
small  fry  in  general  was  the  most  horrible  nuisance 
to  which  a  man  could  be  subjected  !  " 

A  little  later,  when  Dorothy  was  again  obliged  to 
leave  them,  Tom,  in  order  to  cement  their  late  recon- 
ciliation, took  Daisy  out  in  the  grounds.  He  escorted 
the  delighted  child  among  the  winding  paths  and  the 
terraces,  the  flower-beds  and  the  ancient  fruit-trees. 
The  cherries  had  all  gone  by  this  time,  but  the  early 
apples  were  getting  mellow  ;  and  when  she  looked  at 
them  wistfully  among  the  leaves,  Tom  promised  to 
send  her  a  nice  basket  of  the  fruit  in  a  few  days. 
Then  there  was  the  crowning  glory  of  all,  the  swing 
on  the  high  terrace  under  the  elm-tree.  Tom  placed 
her  carefully  in  the  seat,  and  then  with  his  strong 
arms  sent  the  little  figure  sweeping  off  amid  raptur- 
ous shrieks  until  it  brushed  the  lower  elm  boughs. 

What  a  half-hour  that  was  among  the  grounds  of 
Red  Knolls!  Many  a  fair  young  girl  would  have 
envied  Daisy  her  gallant  escort. 

She  sat  erect  at  the  table  that  night,  and  was  a 
perfect  little  lady.  With  some  instinct  of  propriety, 
this  child,  so  late  from  the  North  End  tenement, 
and  with  only  memories  which  reached  dimmer  than 
dreams  beyond  it,  carried  herself  with  a  simple, 
transparent  ease  in  the  new  atmosphere,  amid  the 
gracious  surroundings,  which  left  nothing  to  criticise. 
She  was  like  some  perfect  wild-flower  which  bursts, 
a  glory  of  bloom,  upon  the  summer  highway  ;  while 


NOT    HEAVEN,    BUT    RED   KNOLLS  255 

those  wfto  watched  her  loveliness  seemed  almost  to 
hear  nature  saying,  — 

"Can.  all  your  rich  soils  and  hothouse  culture 
equal  my  wilding  ?  " 

She  sat  in  a  high  chair  by  Dorothy,  and  for  a 
while  was  quite  silent,  absorbed  in  the  novel  scene 
and  service  about  her.  At  last  she  spoke  with  a 
half -conscious  apology, — 

"Miss  Bray  said  I  must  put  on  my  comp'ny  man- 
ners when  I  got  here,  and  I  told  her  I  would,  only 
I  hadn't  any  of  that  kind." 

To  those  who  listened,  this  remark  seemed  to  have 
a  quality  of  inborn  fineness  which  no  high  breeding 
could  have  surpassed. 


256  "si us,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XXXII 

AN   EVENING 

IT  was  getting  dark  outside.  They  were  in  the 
sitting-room,  —  the  young  Draycotts  and  Daisy,  — 
when  the  child  suddenly  sprang  to  her  feet;  her 
quick  ears  had  caught  a  familiar  voice  in  the  hall. 

"  Why,  that's  Dakie  !  "  she  exclaimed  joyfully  ; 
and  as  the  door  opened  to  admit  the  new-comer,  she 
bounded  across  the  room,  and  turned  to  the  others 
with  a  face  which  said  plainly,  — 

"  Lo  !  the  conquering  hero  comes  !  " 

There  he  stood,  big,  shy,  blushing,  in  doubt  what 
to  do  with  his  hands  and  feet. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  Dake  Cramley.  This 
elegant  home,  this  refined  atmosphere,  the  whole  ex- 
istence which  they  suggested,  were  something  utterly 
alien  to  his  experience.  He  wished  the  earth  would 
open  and  swallow  him  up. 

Tom  came  forward  at  once. 

"  Dake,  old  fellow,"  in  the  long  familiar  tones, 
"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you.  Let  me  present 
you,  Mr.  Dake  Cramley,  to  my  sister,  Miss  Dorothy 
Draycott." 


AN   EVENING  257 

Dake  managed  to  bow  to  the  tall,  graceful  girl 
who  was  gazing  at  him  with  her  large,  curious  eyes ; 
he  tried  to  speak  her  name,  but  his  tongue  clove  to 
the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

Dorothy's  heart  and  instinct  were,  however,  equal 
to  the  occasion. 

"  I  feel  already  acquainted  with  you,  Mr.  Dake," 
the  clear  young  accents  broke  from  smiling  lips.  "  I 
have  heard  so  much  of  }rou  from  my  brother,  and 
Daisy  has  been  sounding  your  praises  all  the  after- 
noon." 

The  child  burst  out  now  eagerly,  — 

"  O  Dakie,  I  thought  this  was  heaven,  and  Miss 
Draycott  the  angel,  until  I  found  she  hadn't  any 
wings ! " 

"  She  doesn't  need  any ! "  replied  Dake.  It  was 
the  first  gallant  speech  he  had  ever  made  to  a 
woman. 

Tom,  who  was  in  full  sympathy  with  Dake's  em- 
barrassment, and  strongly  desirous  his  protege  should 
make  a  favorable  impression,  said  to  himself,  — 

"  Well  done,  Dake !  None  of  your  drawing-room 
fellows  could  have  carried  it  off  better  than  that." 

After  this  Dake  gradually  grew  more  at  his  ease, 
and,  as  he  forgot  himself,  was  able  to  take  his  part 
in  the  talk  with  young  Draycott. 

The  feeling  between  the  two  struck  Dorothy  with 
surprise.  They  seemed  to  her  like  old  chums.  She 
watched  Dake  with  much  curiosity.  She  made  up 


258  "  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

her  mind  that  he  was  really  good-looking  —  quite 
picturesque  with  his  dark  skin,  his  black  hair  and 
eyes.  His  smile  was  pleasant,  and  broke  up  the 
gravity  of  his  face  ;  and  his  laugh,  when  Tom  or 
Daisy  said  something  to  bring  it  out,  had  a  hearty, 
boyish  ring. 

As  for  Daisy,  she  almost  surpassed  herself  to-night. 
A  good  deal  excited  by  the  events  of  the  day,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  loving  admiration  about  her,  which 
she  unconsciously  felt,  she  was,  if  possible,  more 
quaint  and  bewitching  than  in  the  afternoon. 

Nobody  who  saw  them  together  could  doubt  Dake's 
feeling  for  the  child.  He  was  so  proud  of  her ! 
When  she  said  anything  particularly  bright  or  amus- 
ing he  would  often  turn  to  Dorothy,  and  a  glance  of 
pleased  intelligence  would  pass  between  the  two. 
He  and  his  young  hostess  soon  learned  they  had  some 
common  ground  on  which  they  could  meet.  Daisy 
Ross  was,  after  all,  a  chief  harmonizing  factor  in  that 
evening's  pleasure. 

"Tom  has  told  me,  Mr.  Dake,"  said  Dorothy,  at 
once  tactful  and  cordial,  "a  great  deal  about  your 
evening  strolls  together  in  Boston.  I  shall  imagine 
now  when  he  disappears  without  word  or  sign  as  soon 
as  dinner  is  over,  that  he  has  gone  after  you." 

"  I  hope  it  will  always  be  true,  Miss  Draycott." 

Then  Dake  turned  and  looked  at  Tom.  Dorothy 
never  forgot  that  look.  It  was  full  of  unutterable 
admiration,  gratitude,  devotion. 


AN    EVENING  259 

To  think  of  that  teasing,  careless,  hare-brained,  fun- 
loving  Tom  being  the  object  of  such  a  look  as  that ! 
It  set  him  in  a  new  light  before  his  sister. 

Tom  must  have  seen  the  look ;  but  then  it  was 
more  of  an  old  story  to  him. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Dayles  entered  the  room.  Daisy 
had  seen  her  at  dinner;  and,  amid  all  the  novel 
sights,  the  kind,  motherly  face  under  its  gray  hair 
had  attracted  the  child.  Tom  presented  his  friend 
to  Mrs.  Dayles,  and  soon  afterward  proposed  to  carry 
off  Dake  to  his  own  "  den  "  for  a  little  while. 

The  child  gazed  at  the  woman  a  few  moments  with 
her  bright,  intent  gaze,  and  then  springing  up  she 
darted  over  to  her. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come  again,"  she  said  ear- 
nestly. "  Do  you  live  here  always  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  My  home  is  a  long  way  off,  Daisy ;  but 
I  have  come  here  to  stay  with  these  young  people 
while  their  father  and  mother  are  away." 

"  Yes ;  I  unnerstand  now."  Daisy  drew  a  long, 
meditative  breath. 

"  Is  your  home  like  this  ?  "  she  asked  a  moment 
later. 

"  No,  my  child ;  it  is  not  nearly  so  grand  or  beau- 
tiful as  this." 

Here  Dorothy  interposed.  "But,  Daisy,  it  is  the 
dearest,  most  delightful  old  home  in  the  world.  If 
you  once  get  there  you  will  never  want  to  leave  it. 
Tom  and  I  know  all  about  it.  We  have  had  such 


260  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

happy  times  there  ever  since  we  were  bits  of  chil- 
dren." 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  all  about  it,  Nanty  Dayles  !  "  im- 
plored Daisy,  speaking  for  the  first  time  the  name 
her  quick  ears  had  caught  at  the  table. 

Mrs.  Dayles  took  the  child  on  her  lap.  For  the 
next  hour  Daisy  drank  in  stories  of  the  old  Vermont 
farmstead,  amid  its  orchards  and  meadows  and  fra- 
grant pine  woods.  Her  interest  and  curiosity  were 
boundless.  Dorothy  added  her  own  childish  remi- 
niscences of  happy  frolicsome  days  in  the  fair 
Northern  farm-country.  Daisy  broke  in  with  breath- 
less questions,  her  dancing  eyes  going  from  one  to 
the  other. 

"  Are  squirrels  as  big  as  bears  ? "  she  inquired 
after  Mrs.  Dayles  had  endeavored  to  describe  them. 
Daisy  had  seen  a  black  bear  once  at  the  North  End. 
A  man  was  leading  him  through  the  alley  by  a  big 
chain. 

"Oh,  no,  my  dear!  They  are  hardly  larger  than  a 
big-sized  kitten.  Such  a  pretty  sight  as  it  is  to  see 
them  darting  up  the  trees,  and  whisking  their  bushy 
tails,  and  eating  their  chestnuts  ! " 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  see  them  !  "  with  another  of 
her  long-drawn  breaths. 

"And  why  can't  you?"  responded  Mrs.  Dayles, 
drawing  the  child  to  her  heart.  "  If  you  will  come 
to  me,  I  will  take  the  best  care  in  the  Avorld  of  you, 
my  darling ! " 


AN   EVENING  261 

"  And  then  —  and  then  " —  there  was  a  moment's 
pause.  "  But  oh,  if  Dakie  could  come  too! " 

"  Yes  ;  Dakie  shall  come  too."  Mrs.  Dayles 
promptly  affirmed. 

After  a  while  the  young  men,  having  had  their  talk 
out,  appeared. 

Daisy  leaped  from  Mrs.  Dayles's  lap,  bounded 
toward  Dake,  her  words  breaking  out  in  an  eager 
torrent,  the  sentences  fairly  tumbling  against  each 
other,  — 

"  O  Dakie  !  you  don't  know  what  a  wonderful 
place  it  is ;  and  you  and  I  are  to  go  there,  —  I  mean 
where  Nanty  Dayles  lives,  —  and  see  the  colts  scam- 
perin'  over  the  fields,  and  the  cows  come  home  at 
night  through  the  lanes,  and  the  squirrels  run  up 
the  trees,  and  hear  the  birds  sing  all  day !  We  are 
to  go  —  you  and  I  —  Nanty  Dayles  says  so." 

Then  Tom  spoke.  "  That  is  the  head  and  crown  of 
plans  !  You  shall  take  Daisy  along  with  you,  Dake, 
and  have  your  vacation  there.  You  will  find  it  just 
a  paradise.  Perhaps  Dollikins  and  I  will  run  up  and 
join  you  for  a  day  or  two,  if  we  can  cut  college  and 
kindergarten  for  that  space  of  time.  What  do  you 
say  to  it  all,  Nanty  Dayles  ?  " 

"  The  more  the  merrier,"  she  anwsered,  smiling  on 
her  big  boy. 

Then  the  maid  appeared  with  cream  and  fruit,  and 
the  talk  waxed  gay  on  all  sides. 

"Of  course,"  said  Tom,  "with  the  fun  glinting  hi 


262  "sms,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

his  eyes,  "  my  nose  is  fatally  out  of  joint  now  you 
have  arrived,  Dake  ;  but  if  a  certain  small  person 
multiplied  her  birthdays  by  four,  you  and  I  would  be 
deadly  rivals." 

Daisy  stopped  eating  her  cake  and  berries.  She 
stared  at  the  speaker  perplexed  for  a  minute  or  two  ; 
then  she  slipped  off  her  chair,  set  her  saucer  and  plate 
on  the  table,  ran  over  to  Tom,  inspected  one  side  of 
his  face  anxiously,  then  leaned  over  and  did  the  same 
with  the  other  side.  Nobody  spoke ;  everybody 
watched  her. 

She  lifted  her  head  suddenly,  and  exclaimed  in  a 
tone  of  joyful  assurance,  "  Why,  your  nose  is  on 
all  right!" 

It  seemed  as  though  the  shouts  and  peals  of  laugh- 
ter must  shake  the  solid  old  house. 

Daisy  looked  surprised  and  rather  hurt.  "  I 
thought  you  said  something  ailed  your  nose,"  she 
explained. 

Tom  took  her  on  his  knee. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  secret  nobody  else  must 
know.  May  I  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  you  may,"  looking  pleased  and  important. 

"  I  think  you  are  just  the  sweetest,  dearest  little 
Daisy  in  the  world." 

At  last  the  carriage  was  at  the  door.  Outside  the 
world  lay  drowned  in  the  summer  moonshine.  It 
had  been  arranged  that  Dorothy  and  Daisy  should 
drive  to  the  station,  where  Tom  and  Dake  would 
join  them  in  time  for  the  Boston  train. 


AN    EVENING  263 

Mrs.  Dayles  seized  her  chance  now.  She  and  Duke 
had  exchanged  only  a  few  words  and  an  occasional 
interested  glance  that  evening.  She  came  to  him 
now,  and  said  in  her  gentle,  sincere  voice,  — 

"  I  shall  expect  you  will  come,  Mr.  Dake,  and 
bring  that  dear  little  Daisy  with  you,  and  stay  as 
long  as  you  can." 

She  gave  him  her  hand;  she  looked  at  him  with 
her  bright,  kind  eyes.  "  My  dear  young  man,  you 
will  excuse  aji  old  woman  for  saying  so,  but  you  look 
to  me  as  though  some  mothering  would  do  you  good. 
Won't  you  come  and  let  me  try  it?" 

Were  there  such  mothers  as  this  in  the  world  ?  A 
memory  of  his  own  rose  before  Dake.  If  she  had 
been  like  this  woman,  what  a  difference  it  would 
have  made  to  him  ! 

His  lips  twitched.  The  words  would  not  come. 
But  all  he  felt  was  in  his  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Dayles  read 
it. 

Then  Tom  called  him. 

There  was  a  hoarse,  struggling  "  Yes,  I  will  come." 

He  grasped  the  kindly  hand  and  left  her. 


264  "SIES,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XXXIII 

CHANGES   AND  FORECASTS 

THE  young  people  and  Mrs.  Dayles  sat  together 
one  evening  in  the  library.  The  day  had  been  full 
of  surprises.  Advices  had  come  frorft  California. 
Affairs  there  had  gone  so  prosperously  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Draycott  hoped  to  reach  home  early  in 
September. 

By  this  time  the  midsummer  was  waning,  and 
those  who  watched  closely  could  detect  a  slight 
lengthening  of  the  evenings.  Tidings  had  also  been 
received  from  Vermont.  One  of  those  unlooked-for 
crises  in  domestic  affairs  had  occurred  which  made 
Mrs.  Dayles's  presence  of  great  importance  at  this 
juncture.  It  had  been  decided  that  she  should  return 
home  for  a  fortnight.  A  serving-woman,  capable  and 
trusty,  had  meanwhile  been  secured. 

Dorothy  had  been  rather  aghast  at  the  idea  of  Mrs. 
Dayles  going  away.  She  was  quite  aware,  though 
she  was  titular  mistress  of  Red  Knolls,  Mrs.  Dayles 
supplied  the  real  managing  force.  There  was  to  be 
no  more  pretty  masquerading  now.  She  must  take 
the  household  reins  into  young,  unused  hands.  Tom 
insisted  half  earnestly,  half  jocosely,  that  the  house 
would  soon  be  tumbling  abaut  their  ears. 


CHANGES   AND   FORECASTS  265 

The  return  of  the  parents,  an  event  so  definitely 
arranged  now,  so  near  at  hand,  so  joyful  an  antici- 
pation, still  lent  a  tinge  of  seriousness  to  the  talk, 
as  is  apt  to  be  the  case  when  a  long,  eventful  expe- 
rience is  about  to  close. 

"  It  was  an  immense  experiment,  setting  such  a 
pair  as  you  and  I,  Tom,  at  the  head  of  Red  Knolls. 
Papa  and  mamma  felt  it  so  too ;  but  they  regarded  it 
as  a  choice  of  evils.  It  seems  as  though  I  had  grown 
years  older  since  they  went  away." 

"No  doubt  your  family  cares  and  responsibilities 
have  worn  you  to  the  shadow  I  see  before  me ;  while 
my  own  burdens  in  the  same  line,  added  to  my  un- 
ceasing anxieties  on  your  account,  have  reduced  me 
to  the  wreck  you  behold  !  " 

Tom  rose  and  stood  with  mock  seriousness  before 
his  sister,  his  sinewy  frame  drawn  to  its  full  height. 

Dorothy's  merry  glance  went  over  the  big  fellow. 

"  Your  burdens  !  your  anxieties  !  "  she  repeated. 
"  As  though  they  had  weighed  a  feather  with  such  a 
careless,  obstinate,  hare-brained  creature  as  you  !  " 

"  I  might  make  a  crushing  retort,  but  desist  from 
sheer  amiability  of  nature.  Aunty  Dayles,  we  are 
pluming  ourselves  on  our  good  behavior,  and  talk- 
ing as  though  we  had  carried  Red  Knolls  on  our 
shoulders,  while  you  sit  here  without  a  word,  and 
are  perfectly  conscious  you  have  been  all  these 
months  smoothing  the  rough  edges,  pouring  oil  on 
the  raging  seas.  When  the  time  comes  to  dispense 


266  «•  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

favors  and  honors,  we  ought  to  lay  all  ours  at  your 
feet." 

Dorothy  turned  now  and  smiled  gratefully  on  the 
little  woman,  who  smiled  back  in  turn. 

"  I  should  have  no  use  for  favors  and  honors,  Tom, 
if  I  deserved  them." 

"  I  suppose,"  Dorothy  continued,  "  that  rough 
edges  and  raging  seas  are  Tom's  metaphors  for  sharp 
tongues  and  hot  tempers.  But  the  perils  are  mostly 
passed  now.  I  think,  considering  what  we  are,  we 
have  borne  the  test  remarkably  well.  You  and  I 
haven't  quarrelled,  have  we,  Tom,  on  an  average 
oftener  than  once  a  day?" 

"I  should  say  not." 

"  And  of  course,  after  all  these  months,  there  is 
no  fear  but  we  shall  hold  out  three  or  four  weeks 
longer." 

At  this  point  they  burst  into  the  laughter  of  gay 
young  hearts  ;  but  Mrs.  Dayles  said  to  herself,  — 

"  O  my  dear  boy  and  girl,  don't  feel  too  certain ! 
So  much  can  happen  in  three  or  four  weeks !  " 

In  a  little  while  the  talk  had  turned  on  the  guests 
of  two  evenings  ago.  Each  of  the  three  had  some 
cherished  plan  regarding  them. 

"  Daisy  must  go  to  the  kindergarten  next  winter," 
said  Dorothy.  "  What  a  new  world  it  will  unfold  to 
that  bright,  eager  little  brain  !  " 

"  As  for  Dake,"  subjoined  Tom,  "  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  he  shall  attend  an  evening-school,  and  have 


CHANGES    AND   FORECASTS  267 

various  other  chances  to  improve  himself.  It  is  an 
outrage  that  such  a  fellow  as  he  should  be  handi- 
capped all  his  life  for  want  of  an  education.  What 
I  can't  do  in  this  matter  the  pater  must." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  added  Dorothy,  "  papa 
and  mamma  might  adopt  Daisy,  if  we  suggested  it  ,- 
only  we  couldn't  take  her  away  from  Dake." 

"  No ;  that  is  not  to  be  thought  of,"  commented 
Tom  decidedly. 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Dayles  declared  her  intention 
of  having  the  two  visit  her  in  the  early  autumn. 

"  Dake  shall  have  his  vacation  with  me,"  she  said. 
"  Daisy  will  be  as  happy  about  the  old  place  as  the 
day  is  long." 

Just  before  they  parted  for  the  night  Dorothy  Avent 
to  her  brother,  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
said, — 

-'•  O  Tom,  you  and  I  are  to  be  all  alone  together ! 
Wt  will  be  good  to  each  other." 

"  Yes,  Dollikins,  dear  old  girl,  we  will ! "  He 
tweaked  the  little  ear  half  affectionately,  half  play- 
fully. 

What  a  happy  evening  that  had  been !  They 
remembered  it  afterward. 


2G8  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 


XXXIV 

SOME  PAINFUL    SURPRISES 

AUNT  GLENN  had  come  !  It  was  only  the  second 
day  after  Mrs.  Dayles  had  left. 

The  lady's  advent  took  everybotty  by  surprise. 
She  was  Donald  Draycott's  only  sister,  and  a  couple 
of  years  his  senior. 

Glennis  Draycott  Grayling  was  a  strikingly  hand- 
some woman.  She  carried  her  slender  figure  —  per- 
haps a  little  too  tall  —  with  perfect  grace.  She  was 
a  blonde  ;  her  complexion  still  retained  the  fairness 
of  its  youth,  her  blue  eyes  much  of  their  young 
brightness  of  color.  Her  features  had  an  almost 
faultless  regularity,  and  the  light  frosts  which  had 
fallen  among  her  yellow  hair  harmonized  with  her 
whole  presence. 

This  visit  had  been  a  sudden  impulse  on  her  part. 
She  was  in  the  habit  of  acting  on  one.  She  did  not, 
however,  often  come  to  Red  Knolls.  When  she  did, 
it  was  rather  perfunctorily,  for  a  brief  holiday  visit, 
or  on  some  formal  occasion  when  she  felt  it  incum- 
bent on  her  to  emphasize  the  family  relationship. 

Mrs.  Grayling's  Kome  was  in  Western  New  York. 
Her  husband,  many  years  her  senior,  was  absorbed  in 


SOME   PAINFUL   SUliPlUSES  269 

his  business  aims  and  interests,  where  he  had  made 
a  conspicuous  success.  They  had  no  children  to 
brighten  either  their  elegant  city  or  country  homes  ; 
but  there  was  little  of  the  maternal  quality  in  Glen- 
nis  Grayling's  make-up.  She  had  vast  social  am- 
bitions, and  her  husband's  wealth  enabled  her  to 
gratify  these  to  the  top  of  her  bent.  She  had  a 
knack  of  off-hand,  brilliant,  witty  speech,  at  which 
people  laughed,  but  were  more  or  less  afraid  of  her; 
for  the  smart  speeches  could  sting. 

Glennis  Draycott  had  lost  her  mother  when  she 
was  herself  barely  thirteen.  From  that  time  the 
girl  had  no  strong,  restraining  influence  around  her 
young  life.  She  grew  up  proud,  brilliant,  self-willed. 
Her  father  doted  on  his  handsome  daughter,  was 
more  or  less  blind  to  her  faults,  and  indulged  her 
caprices.  A  man  of  his  quality  was  sure,  sooner 
or  later,  to  see  his  mistake  and  deplore  it  when  it 
could  not  be  undone.  His  son  Donald  was  unlike 
his  sister  in  person  and  character ;  but  he  was  an 
affectionate,  lovable  fellow,  and  Glennis  cared  more 
for  him  than  she  did  for  anything  else  in  the  world. 
Accustomed  by  force  of  will  or  adroit  management  to 
have  her  own  way,  she  had  no  doubt  she  could  shape 
his  destiny.  Not  long  after  her  marriage,  she  set 
her  heart  on  Donald's  wedding  a  handsome  girl,  —  a 
wealthy  heiress,  a  friend  of  her  own. 

But  Grace  Dabney  had  spoiled  all  that.  It  was 
the  cruelest  disappointment  of  Mrs.  Grayling's  life. 


270  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

She  had  to  bear  it  silently  too.  Donald  was  the  only 
person  in  the  world  whom  she  feared ;  and  she  knew 
the  absolute  hopelessness  of  attempting  to  oppose 
him  where  his  affections  were  involved. 

But  this  was  not  all.  The  two  women  were  so  ut- 
terly unlike  in  their  characters  and  standards,  that 
they  could  have  few  sympathies  in  common. 

Mrs.  Grayling  proved  her  adroitness  by  the  fact 
that  during  all  these  years  neither  her  brother  nor  his 
wife  suspected  her  aversion  to  their  marriage.  When 
they  met,  Glennis  treated  her  sister-in-law  with  un- 
failing cordiality ;  and  the  latter  tried  to  disguise 
from  herself  the  traits  in  Mrs.  Grayling  which  her 
keen  woman's  intuition  could  not  fail  to  penetrate. 

When  the  brother  and  sister  were  alone  together 
Mrs.  Grayling  forced  herself  to  listen  smilingly  to 
Donald's  adoring  praise  of  his  wife.  But  the  talk 
galled.  She  cherished  a  resentful  feeling  that  he 
must  always  be  drawing  contrasts  between  his  wife 
and  his  sister. 

Time  did  not  soften  her  sense  of  having  been 
checkmated.  Grace  Dabney  was,  to  her  sister-in-law, 
a  living  reminder  of  the  one  great  defeat,  the  cruel- 
est  disappointment,  of  her  life.  An  added  offence 
was  Mrs.  Draycott  herself  —  the  woman  she  was  in 
person  and  character  so  abundantly  justifying  her 
husband's  choice.  The  perfect  sympathy  of  married 
life  which  she  witnessed  at  Red  Knolls  seemed  to 
Mrs.  Grayling  a  tacit  reproach  for  something  she 


SOME   PAINFUL   SUUPKISES  271 

missed  in  her  own  prosperous  and  what  she  regarded 
as  humdrum  existence. 

A  woman  of  this  type  would  be  likely  to  cherish 
a  secret  grudge  against  life  as  something  which  had 
disappointed  and  disenchanted  her. 

Dorothy  was  aghast  at  her  aunt's  advent.  The 
prospect  of  being  hostess  to  this  elegant  woman  was 
very  formidable  to  the  young  girl,  and  the  absence 
of  Mrs.  Dayles  at  this  juncture  was  particularly  un- 
fortunate. 

Still,  Aunt  Glenn  was  her  father's  sister.  Doro- 
thy felt  it  incumbent  on  herself  to  represent  her 
mother,  and  to  do  the  honors  of  Red  Knolls  hand- 
somely. 

In  reality,  the  girl  had  very  vague  notions  of  her 
aunt.  She  had  not  seen  her  for  more  than  two  years, 
and  associated  her  with  family  dinners  and  formal 
occasions,  with  the  ceremonious,  decorative  side  of 
life  in  general. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  Mrs.  Grayling  had  any 
clearly  denned  purpose  in  this  sudden  descent  upon 
Red  Knolls  during  the  absence  of  its  master  and  mis- 
tress. She  was  restless  of  late  years,  and  subject  to 
frequent  whims  and  impulses,  which  abundant  leisure 
enabled  her  to  gratify.  She  probably  formulated  no 
distinct  plan  of  making  anybody  unhappy ;  but  she 
brought  with  her  a  good  many  secret  grudges  and 
resentments,  and  a  perfect  opportunity  was  now 
afforded  her  for  indulging  them. 


272  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

For  two  or  three  days  things  went  on  with  hardly 
a  jar.  Aunt  Glenn  was  gracious  and  amusing.  •  The 
servants  rose  to  the  occasion.  Dorothy  felt  she  was 
doing  herself  credit. 

Tom  had,  at  first,  been  anything  but  hilarious  over 
his  aunt's  arrival.  He  could,  however,  sympathize 
only  partially  with  his  sister's  feeling  of  domestic 
responsibility. 

"  If  my  lady  puts  on  airs,  don't  give  them  a 
thought,"  he  said,  trying  to  reassure  his  sister  in  his 
good-natured,  masculine  fashion.  "  What  inspired 
her  to  jump  on  us  at  this  crisis  in  full  armor  — 
maid  and  mammoth  trunks  —  I  can't  conceive  ;  but 
here  she  is,  and  we  must  make  the  best  of  it. 
Then,  if  she  isn't  satisfied,  she  can  fold  her  tents 
and  quietly  steal  away." 

But  Aunt  Glenn  soon  succeeded  in  making  herself 
agreeable  to  her  nephew.  She  could  do  this  always 
to  men  of  all  degrees,  when  she  thought  it  worth  her 
while.  She  amused  and  stimulated  them  with  her 
piquant  talk,  her  keen  observations,  her  sparkling 
repartee,  and  lively  witticisms.  She  liked  men,  too, 
better  than  she  did  her  own  sex.  Then  she  had 
always  regarded  Tom  as  a  Draycott.  This,  with  her, 
was  a  strong  point  in  his  favor. 

Dorothy,  Mrs.  Grayling  had  decided,  was  a  Dab- 
ney  —  "  her  mother  all  over  !  " 

The  girl  unconsciously  aggravated  this  offence  by 
talking  much  of  Mrs.  Draycott.  She  was  always 


SOME   PAINFUL   SURPRISES  273 

quoting  her  mother's  opinions  and  sayings,  in  a  way 
that  implied  there  could  be  no  appeal  from  these. 
This  secretly  irritated  her  aunt.  She  could,  of 
course,  resent  nothing  at  the  moment,  but  she  would 
bide  her  time. 

Dorothy  began  to  feel  embarrassed,  uncomfortable, 
at  first  in  a  vague,  confused,  sub-conscious  way. 

"  I  am  sure  she  does  not  laugh  at  Tom's  speeches 
in  that  fashion,"  she  said  to  herself,  half  hurt,  half 
indignant.  "  It  is  only  at  something  I  have  said  or 
done." 

Then  there  were  jests  —  light,  playful,  flashing 
things  —  aimed  at  Dorothy ;  but  they  were  often 
barbed  with  a  sting. 

At  times,  and  these  were  often,  when  Aunt  Glenn 
beamed  graciously  on  her  niece,  Dorothy  would 
believe  she  had  done  her  injustice,  and  would  feel 
ashamed  and  remorseful ;  but  these  suspicions  were 
sure  to  return,  and  before  long  they  had  gained  the 
force  of  convictions. 

Dorothy  did  not  confide  these  to  Tom.  For  one 
reason  or  another,  they  were  not  much  alone  together 
at  this  time.  When  he  was  in  the  house,  Aunt 
Glenn  made  rather  a  point  of  monopolizing  her 
nephew.  It  was  an  easy  task  for  the  woman  of  the 
world  to  adapt  herself  to  him,  to  listen  admiringly 
to  his  talk,  to  flatter  him  in  a  thousand  subtle  ways. 
In  a  little  while  the  haughty,  brilliant  woman  had 
woven  her  spells  about  the  youth  —  spells  which 


274  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

had  proven  powerful  to  men  of  more  than  twice 
nineteen. 

Worst  of  all,  it  began  to  seem  to  Dorothy  that 
Tom  was,  in  some  subtle  way,  changed  toward  her- 
self. Her  own  Tom !  At  first  Dorothy  tried  to 
resist  this  thought  indignantly.  The  change  was 
of  the  sort  on  which  one  could  not  lay  a  finger.  It 
was  subtle ;  it  was  impalpable ;  it  was  in  the  air. 

Mrs.  Grayling  had  her  own  way  of  making  her 
niece  feel  uncomfortable.  With  a  few  jesting  words 
and  a  low  ironical  laugh  she  would  set  something 
Dorothy  had  said  or  done  in  a  ludicrous  or  ridicu- 
lous light. 

She  was  not  wise,  of  course,  this  girl  of  seven- 
teen, and  constantly  played  into  the  elder  woman's 
hands.  It  never  entered  her  mind  that  her  greatest 
offence  was  being  her  mother's  daughter. 

As  time  went  on  Dorothy  was  forced  to  see  more 
and  more  the  effect  of  Mrs.  Grayling's  presence  and 
influence  on  her  nephew.  He  began  to  affect  smart 
speeches,  to  be  critical,  witty,  fastidious,  and  in 
various  ways  to  assume  more  or  less  the  air  of  a  man 
of  the  world.  This  was  wholly  foreign  to  his  frank, 
off-hand,  impetuous  nature. 

One  evening  when  Mrs.  Grayling  and  her  nephew 
were  playing  at  backgammon,  Dorothy,  sitting  near 
them,  was  rather  shocked  at  one  of  Tom's  remarks, 
in  the  temper  of  a  good  many  others  which  he  had 
made  of  late. 


SOME    PAINFUL   SURPRISES  275 

"  How  could  you  speak  like  that,  Tom  ?  You  know 
mamma  would  not  approve  of  it,"  she  burst  out. 

Mrs.  Grayling  seized  her  chance.  She  laughed  her 
amused,  satirical  laugh. 

"  My  dear  Dorothy,  that  is  the  way,  of  course,  to 
keep  him  in  the  strait  and  narrow  path.  Threaten 
him  with  his  mother's  displeasure  every  time  ! " 

Tom  flushed,  and  turned  angrily  on  his  sister, — 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  stop  harping  on  that  string ! 
It  would  do  for  a  small  boy,  but  it  gets  to  be  insuf- 
ferable when  a  fellow  has  grown  up." 

Aunt  Glenn  also  took  occasion,  when  the  mood 
prompted,  to  let  other  people  perceive  she  regarded 
her  niece  still  in  the  light  of  an  immature  girl,  whose 
ideas  and  opinions  —  to  be  indulged  of  course  —  were 
really  entitled  to  slight  consideration.  She  managed 
in  subtle  ways  to*  convey  this  impression  to  the  ser- 
vants and  to  guests.  Dorothy,  installed  mistress  of 
the  house,  was  naturally  sensitive  for  her  dignity. 
She  was  hurt,  indignant,  helpless. 

Sometimes,  too,  Mrs.  Grayling  related  amusing 
stories  of  slips  of  girls  who  took  on  airs  and  as- 
sumed womanly  dignities  and  responsibilities  when 
they  ought  still  to  be  quietly  sheltered  under  the 
maternal  wing. 

The  stories  were  told  in  a  dramatic  way,  which 
made  people  laugh.  Of  course  Dorothy  laughed  too. 
She  could  not  assume  anything  was  pointed  at  her- 
self. Aunt  Glenn  would  have  stared,  innocent  and 


276  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

amazed,  at  the  suggestion.  But  all  the  same  her 
stories  rankled. 

Her  aunt's  speeches,  too,  often  pained  the  girl's 
conscience.  Mi's.  Grayling  held  up  the  failings, 
weaknesses,  misfortunes,  of  people  whom  she  knew 
in  remorseless  lights.  Anything  of  this  sort  was 
alien  to  the  family  atmosphere,  to  the  influences  and 
examples  amid  which  Dorothy  had  been  reared. 
What  would  her  mother  think  ?  As  for  the  daughter, 
she  could  only  sit  still ;  but  the  young  face  showed 
plainly  its  pain  and  discomfort,  which  only  provoked 
Mrs.  Grayling  to  further  efforts  on  the  same  lines. 
"  I  have  seen  Grace  Dabney  look  just  like  that !  " 
she  said  to  herself ;  and  the  haughty  woman,  who 
loved  power  and  was  used  to  exercising  it,  remem- 
bered how  she  had  been  forced  to  close  her  lips  and 
be  on  her  guard  in  the  presence  of  Donald's  wife. 

Things  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Dorothy.  She 
was  getting  positively  unhappy.  Yet  the  strong,  in- 
born forces  of  her  nature  rallied  to  meet  this  new 
ordeal.  It  would  be  a  lasting  disgrace  to  have  a 
quarrel  with  Aunt  Glenn,  her  guest,  her  father's 
sister,  a  woman  whose  years  almost  trebled  her  own. 
Besides,  Dorothy  had  an  instinct  that  she  would  cer- 
tainly be  worsted  if  it  came  to  a  collision  between 
the  two.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that  Mrs. 
Grayling  was  bent  on  provoking  her  into  an  explo- 
sion of  passion;  then,  again,  her  mood  would  change 
to  something  so  soft  and  gracious  that  Dorothy 


SOME  PAINFUL   SURPRISES  277 

would  wonder  whether  she  had  not  been  unjust  to 
her  aunt. 

"I  shall  be  glad  when  she  goes,"  the  girl  often 
said  to  herself,  with  some  pain  in  her  young  face 
which  no  one  had  ever  surprised  there  before.  "  To 
think  she  is  papa's  sister,  and  he  is  fond  of  her !  He 
often  talks  of  the  days  when  they  were  boy  and  girl 
together,  here  at  Red  Knolls ;  and  she  was  devoted  to 
him  after  grandma  died.  He  always  ends,  though, 
with  something  like  this,  '  Glenn  and  I  were  as  un- 
like in  character  and  temperament  as  though  we  had 
no  drop  of  kindred  blood  in  our  veins,  and  the 
years  are  not  making  us  less  so.'  If  he  were  here, 
she  would  not  dare  treat  me  in  this  way.  But 
now,"  her  lips  quivered,  "  there  is  nobody  to  help 
me." 

For  a  spirit  of  blindness  seemed  to  have  fallen  on 
Tom  Draycott.  It  was  a  part  of  Mrs.  Grayling's 
rdle  to  make  herself  agreeable  and  charming  to  her 
nephew ;  and  she  thoroughly  succeeded. 

One  day  Dorothy  entered  the  sitting-room  with  a 
new  hat  which  had  just  been  sent  from  the  milliner's.. 
It  was  a  pretty  thing,  of  fine,  light  straw,  the  trim- 
mings a  cluster  of  moss  rosebuds  blended  with  some 
loops  and  knots  of  gay-colored  ribbons.  Tom  and 
his  aunt  were  there  together ;  he  had  been  laughing 
heartily  over  some  of  her  stories. 

That  morning  he  had  said  to  his  sister,  "  Aunt 
Glenn  is  a  wonderfully  clever  creature,  and  keeps  a 


278  "  SHIS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 

fellow  alive  and  amused.  We  must  do  our  best  to 
have  her  stay  on  at  Red  Knolls." 

Dorothy  wore  her  new  hat.  It  was  very  becoming 
to  the  glowing  young  face  it  surmounted. 

"  Isn't  it  a  beauty  ?  "  She  addressed  the  two  with 
girlish  eagerness.  "  I  wore  it  down  just  to  have  you 
admire  it." 

A  couple  of  hours  before,  Dorothy  had  uncon- 
sciously made  some  remark  at  lunch  which  nettled 
her  aunt.  This  was  her  chance  for  reprisal. 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  gorgeous  affair  it  is !  "  she  ex- 
claimed after  a  moment's  inspection.  "  Your  milli- 
ner must  have  stolen  a  clipping  from  some  rainbow." 

Mrs.  Grayling's  taste  was  exquisite.  Her  soft 
blues  and  lavenders  were  perfectly  adapted  to  her 
blond  fairness.  There  was  never  a  false  note  of 
color  in  her  gowns. 

This  gave  her  dictum  weight,  and  relegated  the 
hat  to  hopeless  garishness  in  the  eyes  of  her  nephew. 

"  Dorothy,  why  will  you  make  such  a  popinjay  of 
yourself?"  he  exclaimed  in  an  irritated  tone.  "I 
hope  you  will  have  too  good  taste  to  show  yourself 
on  the  street  with  such  a  varicolored  topknot." 

Dorothy  had  a  young  girl's  sensitiveness  to  ridi- 
cule. All  her  pleasure  in  her  new  hat  was  spoiled. 

"I  think  you  might  have  manners  enough,  Tom 
Draycott,  not  to  call  names  !  You  certainly  never 
learned  that  habit  from  your  mother  !  " 

She  turned  and  left  the  room. 


SOME   PAINFUL   SURPRISES  279 

"  Poor  Dorothy !  "  Mrs.  Grayling's  tone  was  half 
sympathetic,  half  amused.  "  Of  course  she  is  only 
a  child  still ;  and  I  think,  Tom,  my  dear,  you  were 
rather  hard  on  her.  But  that  holding  up  mamma  to 
you  on  all  occasions,  as  thqugh  you  were  still  under 
nursery  discipline,  is  vastly  amusing,  when  one  sees 
just  what  a  big,  broad-shouldered  fellow  you  are." 

Dorothy,  returning  to  her  room,  tossed  her  hat  on 
the  table,  and  flung  herself  on  the  lounge. 

"  It  is  all  Tier  doings,"  she  said  in  angry  mono- 
logue. "  Tom  would  have  liked  my  hat  if  she  had 
not  spoiled  it  with  that  light,  subtle  sneer.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?  I  cannot  bear  it  much  longer.  Even 
Tom  is  not  the  same  to  me.  He  does  not  know  it, 
and  it  is  all  owing  to  her  influence.  O  Aunt  Glenn, 
I  shall  get  to  hating  you!  " 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  lounge  cushion  and 
sobbed  passionately. 

Two  days  afterward  another  jar  occurred  between, 
the  young  people.  It  happened  at  dinner,  and,  of 
course,  in  Mrs.  Grayling's  presence.  Whenever 
Tom's  critical,  captious  mood  cropped  out  toward 
his  sister,  she  laid  the  trouble  at  his  aunt's  door. 
The  girl  herself  was  getting  into  a  self-conscious, 
morbid  mood  amid  the  perplexities  and  trials  which 
beset  her. 

But  to-night  all  that  had  slipped  away.  Some 
slight  misadventure  on  the  street  had  awakened  all 
her  girlish  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  A  woman  had 


280  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

run  against  and  nearly  upset  her  on  the  street.  As 
the  recollection  flashed  over  Dorothy,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  each  had  recovered  her  balance,  she 
related  the  scene  as  a  girl  would,  with  picturesque 
detail,  with  ripples  of  laughter,  and  eyes  flashing 
with  merriment.  She  described  the  stranger  with 
whom  she  had  collided  as  "  a  rather  adipose,  rather 
bedizened  person,  who  looked  as  though  she  might 
on  slight  occasion  become  belligerent." 

In  ordinary  moods  Tom  would  have  listened  and 
laughed  too,  and  probably  have  helped  his  sister  on 
with  the  fun. 

"  How  you  do  spread  your  adjectives !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, now  seizing  a  chance  to  make  a  smart  re- 
joinder before  Mrs.  Grayling.  "  Look  out,  Dorothy, 
or  you  will  be  a  prim,  polysyllabic  old  maid  one  of 
these  days." 

Aunt  Glenn  laughed  the  low,  ironical  laugh  which 
always  grated  on  her  niece's  nerves. 

"  Oh,  that  is  delicious,  Tom  !  "  she  cried.  "  Why 
don't  you  add  pious  ?  The  three  p's  will  then  make 
your  alliteration  perfect." 

Dorothy's  eyes  flashed.  "  I  think  a  Sophomore 
who  has  a  weakness  for  airing  his  Greek  and  mythol- 
ogy should  not  take  upon  himself  to  criticise  me." 

The  shaft  struck  through  a  vulnerable  point  in 
Tom's  armor.  The  blood  rushed  angrily  to  his 
cheeks.  Mrs.  Grayling  noticed  it,  and  mentally 
commented,  — 


SOME   PAINFUL   SURPRISES  281 

"  It  is  nuts  to  me  when  Grace  Dabney's  boy  and 
girl  have  a  tiff,  and  show  they  are  made  of  common 
stuff,  despite  their  paragon  of  a  mother !  " 

But  Dorothy's  feeling  of  triumph  was  short  lived. 
It  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  back  the  tears  from 
her  eyes.  It  seemed  as  though  that  dinner  would 
never  end.  Aunt  Glenn  beamed  on  Tom,  and  he 
laughed  noisily  at  her  repartees,  and  had  a  feeling  of 
angry  estrangement  toward  his  sister. 

Yet  you  and  I  know,  reader,  for  all  this  exhibition 
of  temper  and  youthful  conceit,  what  stuff  Tom 
Draycott  had  behind  them.  Mrs.  Grayling  might 
play  upon  his  young  weakness  and  vanities ;  she 
could  but  sound  the  lowest  note  —  not  the  top  of 
his  compass. 

There  was  something  in  the  air  of  Red  Knolls 
which  might  lead  to  an  explosion.  Mrs.  Grayling 
would,  of  course,  have  laughed  at  this  idea.  She  had 
a  sense  of  triumph  in  these  days  which  at  times 
amounted  to  vindictive  exultation. 

It  is  only  just,  however,  to  say  she  would  have  re- 
pelled the  idea  to  her  own  soul  that  she  could  ever 
desire  any  harm  to  Donald's  children. 

But  she  was  dealing  with  young,  sensitive,  high- 
strung  natures,  and  might  reckon  without  her  host. 

One  afternoon  Mrs.  Grayling  and  her  niece  were 
in  the  drawing-room  receiving  some  calls.  The 
former  was  in  one  of  her  brilliant  moods.  They  had 
been  discussing  some  mutual  acquaintances  who  had 
gone  to  live  in  her  vicinity. 


282  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  Their  grandeur  is  quite  dazzling,"  she  said  in  a 
half-scornful,  half-derisive  tone.  "  They  have  man- 
aged to  worm  themselves  into  our  foest  set.  But 
they  are  parvenues  for  all  that,  and  it  crops  out  oc- 
casionally. That  is  not,  however,  perhaps  the  worst. 
It  strikes  me  there  was  some  scandal  or  crime  asso- 
ciated with  certain  members  of  the  family.  Didn't 
one  of  the  brothers  make  a  sudden  flight  across  seas, 
or  was  it  to  Canada  ?  " 

A  laugh  in  which  a  fine  ear  could  have  detected 
something  conscious  and  perfunctory,  ran  around  the 
circle.  The  lady  sitting  next  to  Dorothy,  a  pretty, 
elaborately  dressed  brunette,  stirred  uneasily  and 
flushed  ;  Dorothy's  olive  skin  was  scarlet. 

At  this  instant  Hidalgo  appeared  at  the  door.  He 
did  not  often  affect  the  drawing-room,  but  his  appear- 
ance struck  Dorothy  now  in  the  light  of  a  providen- 
tial interposition. 

"  Come  in,  you  huge  quadruped,"  she  cried,  seizing 
the  chance  to  effect  a  happy  diversion,  "and  show 
your  splendid  self  to  the  ladies  !  " 

The  guests  had  barely  made  their  adieus  when 
Dorothy  broke  out,  -» 

"O  Aunt  Glenn!  what  have  you  said?  But  of 
course  you  could  not  know." 

'.'  Know  what,  Dorothy?  "  Mrs.  Grayling  repeated 
with  either  real  or  simulated  surprise. 

"  I  mean  what  you  said  about  parvenues  and  the 
brother's  running  away.  Mrs.  Leydell's  brother  did 
the  same  thing." 


SOME   PAINFUL   SURPRISES  283 

"  Oh,  I  understand  now  !  But  I  knew  perfectly, 
child.  I  intended  my  small  aft-row  should  hit  the 
mark." 

Then  the  tongue  which,  in  certain  of  her  moods, 
loved  to  sting  and  lash,  went  on, — 

"I  never  particularly  fancied  the  Leydells ;  and 
when  people's  heads  get  slightly  turned  by  their 
prosperity,  I  do  enjoy  taking  them  down." 

"  But  it  was  nothing  the  sister  could  help,  Aunt 
Glenn,"  pleaded  Dorothy,  too  shocked  to  be  indig- 
nant. "  You  surely  could  not  want  to  pain  her  by 
reminding  her  of  a  family  misfortune !  " 

Mrs.  Grayling  flushed  slightly  under  her  blond 
skin  ;  but  she  determined  to  carry  things  with  a  high 
hand.  She  laughed  her  little  hard,  scornful  laugh. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  any  saintliness,  Dorothy,  my 
dear.  You  must  have  found  that  out  already.  I 
had  my  chance ;  I  seized  it.  It  has  done  no  harm, 
and  reminded  some  people  that  after  all  their  airs 
they  live  in  glass  houses." 

Dorothy  sat  silent,  gazing  at  her  aunt.  Something 
grew  in  the  gaze  which  could  not  have  been  pleasant 
for  the  proud  woman. 

Then  the  tumult  of  young,  passionate  indignation 
flashed  from  heart  to  lip,  — 

"  It  was  cruel !  It  was  shameful !  O  Aunt  Glenn, 
you  must  be  a  wicked  woman  !  " 

Mrs.  Grayling  grew  very  white.  She  turned  on 
her  niece  eyes  which  burned  like  live  coals. 


284  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  that  ?  You  are 
just  like  your  mother  !  " 

The  last  sentence  was  hissed  out.  The  feeling 
which  had  rankled  so  long  in  Glennis  Grayling's 
heart  was  in  her  face,  in  her  voice. 

Then,  with  a  flashing  sense  that  she  had  lost  her 
self-control,  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 

Dorothy  had  seen  the  look  in  her  aunt's  eyes.  It 
started  a  train  of  thought  which  fairly  dazed  her. 

"  She  looked,  she  spoke,  as  though  she  hated 
mamma !  What  would  Tom  have  thought  if  he  had 
seen  her  ?  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  her  young  passion  had 
subsided,  Dorothy  was  saying  to  herself,  — 

"  She  is  my  aunt,  my  guest,  so  much  older  than  I  ; 
I  owe  her  an  apology  for  my  words.  I  must  bend 
my  pride  to  it.  The  sooner  it  is  over,  too,  the 
better." 

She  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Grayling's  room. 

"  Aunt  Glenn,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  excuse 
me.  I  should  not  have  spoken  as  I  did  just  now." 

Mrs.  Grayling  was  too  acute  not  to  perceive  the 
limits  of  her  niece's  apology.  Dorothy  would  not 
wrong  her  conscience  by  saying  her  words  were  not 
true. 

Her  aunt  was,  however,  inclined  to  receive  the 
apology  in  apparent  good  faith.  Her  reflections  dur- 
ing the  last  half-hour  had  not  been  quite  reassuring. 
They  would  have  been  less  so  had  she  been  fully 


SOME   PAINFUL   SURPRISES  285 

conscious  of  the  tone  and  look  which  had  accented 
her  remark  about  Dorothy's  mother. 

When  Aunt  Glenn  attempted  to  do  anything  it 
would  not  be  by  halves. 

"  O  Dorothy  dear !  "  she  said  in  a  cordial,  half- 
playful  tone,  "  you  did  not  suppose  I  thought  of  that 
a  second  time  !  What  you  said  was  all  my  fault 
too.  But  you  look  so  pretty,  child,  so  much  like 
your  mother,  as  I  said,  when  you  are  a  little  excked, 
that  I  can't  resist  the  temptation  of  seeing  you  so 
occasionally.  Of  course  that  is  all  very  shocking,  I 
know ;  but,  really,  I  don't  enjoy  hurting  people's 
feelings,  and  when  I  say  very  cruel  things,  you 
must  believe  I  don't  half  mean  them." 

"  I  shall  always  try  to  believe  that,  Aunt  Glenn," 
Dorothy  replied,  greatly  relieved  by  the  gracious 
manner,  and  half  inclined  to  think  what  she  had 
heard  was  true. 


"  SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN  " 


XXXV 

A   CLIMAX 

DURING  the  next  two  days  nothing  occurred  to 
break  the  household  calm.  Perhaps  it  might  have 
had  to  one  acquainted  with  all  the  characters  con- 
cerned a  little  the  nature  of  an  armed  truce. 

Aunt  Glenn  and  Dorothy  were  on  their  guard. 
Tom  was  absent  a  good  deal  on  some  short  yachting 
sails  ;  and  his  sister,  hurt  at  his  lack  of  comprehen- 
sion and  sympathy  at  this  time,  kept  her  troubles  to 
herself. 

Aunt  Glenn  had  not  forgotten  nor  forgiven.  That 
was  not  easy  to  her  proud,  exacting  nature.  She  did 
not  allow  her  feeling  to  appear ;  but  the  scene  in  the 
drawing-room — the  shocked  look  in  Dorothy's  face 
—  the  words  she  had  spoken  —  frequently  came  up 
to  Mrs.  Grayling,  and  chafed  her  imperious  spirit. 

The  relations  between  Tom  Draycott  and  his  sister 
underwent  at  this  crisis  a  more  prolonged  and  serious 
strain  than  had  ever  occurred  in  their  lives.  Neither 
of  the  young  people  was  clearly  conscious  of  this ; 
neither  was  on  guard.  If  at  a  juncture  when  there 
were  some  irritation  and  sensitiveness  on  both  sides, 
any  fresh  cause  of  offence  should  bring  matters  to  a 


A   CLIMAX  287 

head,  Mrs.  Grayling  would  know  how  to  make  her 
account  in  it. 

One  afternoon  when  Dorothy  had  gone  to  a  tennis- 
party  in  the  neighborhood,  Tom  appeared  at  the 
stable-door,  and  ordered  Steve  to  saddle  old  Iron- 
sides in  a  hurry. 

The  young  man  was  greatly  annoyed  to  learn  that 
the  horse  had  sprained  his  ankle  that  morning,  and  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  use  him  for  two  or  three  days. 

Tom  fumed  about  the  stalls.  He  glanced  several 
times  at  Sphinx,  freshly  groomed  and  in  perfect  con- 
dition, eager  for  drive  or  mount. 

"  She  has  not  been  out  to-day,  has  she,  Steve  ?  "  he 
asked  the  good-natured,  broad-faced  young  English- 
man who  combined  his  stable  duties  with  various 
indoor  service  at  Red  Knolls. 

"  No,  Mr.  Tom,  and  she's  achin'  for  a  smart  gallop. 
She'd  make  double-quick  time  on  the  road  this  after- 
noon." 

Tom  stood  still  at  the  stall  and  surveyed  the  beau- 
tiful creature,  with  her  small  head,  her  rich  dark 
satiny  hide,  her  bright  glancing  eyes.  He  was  en- 
gaged to  ride  that  afternoon  with  one  of  his  class- 
mates. They  would  probably  go  to  Concord.  The 
meeting-place  had  been  appointed.  Moments  were 
precious.  Tom  debated  with  himself  a  short  time. 

He  knew  perfectly  that  Sphinx  was  Dorothy's  most 
precious  possession.  It  was  tacitly  understood  that 
nobody  was  to  take  her  out  without  her  young  mis- 


288  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

tress's  permission.  The  treatment  of  that  young 
mare  was  always  a  very  sensitive  point  with  his 
sister. 

"  Miss  Dorothy  is  out,  I  think  you  said,  Steve  ?  " 
Tom  asked  again. 

"  Yes  ;  she  went  out  half  an  hour  ago,  sir." 

"  And  she  left  no  orders  about  the  horse  when  she 
left?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Tom  ;  though  she  will  be  likely  to  have 
a  drive  later  in  the  afternoon." 

Tom's  4ebate  ultimated.  "  Well,  as  old  Ironsides 
is  knocked  up,  and  my  sister  is  away,  there  seems 
nothing  to  be  done  but  take  the  risks  myself.  I'll 
treat  the  little  beast  carefully.  Put  her  into  the  sad- 
dle lively,  Steve !  " 

More  than  two  hours  later  Tom  rode  into  the 
stable.  Those  two  hours  had  been  the  hardest  of 
Sphinx's  life.  The  little  thoroughbred  which  had 
pranced  gayly  off  with  arching  crest,  every  fibre  in 
her  perfect  body  a-quiver  with  joyous  life,  came  now 
with  drooping  crest,  her  flanks  lathered  with  foam, 
her  mouth  dripping  spume. 

Tom  shouted  eagerly  for  Steve.  In  a  moment  the 
man  appeared  at  the  stable-door,  giving  a  grunt  of 
dismay  at  sight  of  Sphinx's  plight. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Steve!"  Tom  answered  the  crest- 
fallen look  as  he  bounded  from  the  mare's  back. 
"  Be  spry  now ;  get  to  work,  and  rub  her  down  with 
a  vengeance !  " 


A   CLIMAX  289 

"  But  what  have  you  been  doin  to  her,  Master 
Tom?"  with  an  indignant  note  in  his  voice  as  he 
removed  the  saddle  and  patted  the  lathered  coat. 

"  Oh,  I  put  her  at  her  paces  harder  than  I  intended. 
Reynolds  proposed  a  race,  and  I  went  in  for  it.  We 
and  the  beasts  got  our  blood  up  ;  I  didn't  realize  how 
far  we  were  going  or  how  hot  the  day  was.  That  is 
all  there  is  of  it.  You  don't  imagine  I  have  done  any 
mischief,  do  you?" 

"  I  hope  not,  sir.  But  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  try 
it  again ;  "  and  he  shook  his  head.  "  This  sort  of 
work  never  does  a  horse  of  her  breed  any  good." 

It  would  have  been  a  relief  if  Steve  could  have 
sworn  at  his  young  master. 

"  Dorothy  would  be  awfully  cut  up  if  she  were  to 
catch  Sphinx  in  this  plight,"  continued  Tom,  with 
real  concern  for  his  sister.  "  Good  heavens !  what 
a  storm  there  would  be !  Do  your  best,  Steve,  with 
the  mare,  and  don't  lose  an  instant." 

But  the  man  had  already  set  to  work  with  a  will. 

Tom  hurried  to  the  house  iu  order  to  intercept  his 
sister  if  she  should  return,  and  to  manage  "  b}^  hook 
or  by  crook  to  keep  her  from  the  stable  for  the  next 
hour." 

He  had  disappeared  only  a  short  time  when  his 
sister  turned  at  the  back  of  the  grounds  into  a  lane 
which  afforded  a  short  cut  to  the  stable.  She  paused 
to  gather  some  ripening  apples  from  a  low  branch 
which  bent  over  the  wall.  These  were  intended  for 


290  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Sphinx.  She  would  tell  Steve  to  have  her  at  the 
door  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

In  less  than  that  time  Dorothy  burst  into  the  sit- 
ting-room where  Tom  had  stretched  himself  on  the 
lounge,  and  was  listening  for  her  footsteps  on  the 
front  piazza,  not  suspecting  she  would  approach 
the  house  from  the  back  side.  When  he  saw  the 
white  face,  the  blazing  eyes,  he  was  certain  she  had 
anticipated  him. 

"Tom  Draycott,"  she  cried,  her  voice  tremulous 
Avith  passion,  "  you  have  killed  my  horse !  " 

Her  manner,  her  words,  put  him  at  once  on  angry 
defence.  He  rose  rather  leisurely  from  the  sofa. 

"  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself !  "  he  retorted. 
"  I  haven't  done  her  any  harm." 

"  How  dare  you  look  me  in  the  face  and  say  that? 
To  sneak  into  the  stable  when  I  was  away,  and  take 
my  horse,  and  race  her  for  hours  this  hot  afternoon ! 
I  have  just  come  from  the  stable ;  I  have  seen 
Sphinx ;  I  made  Steve  tell  me  all.  It  was  dishonor- 
able ;  it  was  contemptible ;  it  was  cowardly  !  "  Her 
voice  gathered  fresh  passion  at  every  sentence ;  but  it 
came  near  breaking  into  a  sob  as  she  went  on.  "  My 
beautiful  Sphinx  !  You  have  ruined  her!  " 

Tom  had  grown  white.  Such  adjectives  had  never 
been  hurled  at  the  high-spirited  youth.  They  stung 
sharper  because,  unjust  and  exaggerated  as  they 
were,  Dorothy  certainly  had  great  provocation. 

But  Tom  had  not  been  in  a  mood  of  late  to  make 


A    CLIMAX  291 

allowances  for  his  sister.  He  tossed  and  caught  hid 
book  in  a  way  that  was  designedly  aggravating  be- 
fore he  spoke. 

"  As  you  are  in  such  a  rage  you  must  have  your 
temper  out,  I  suppose.  Turning  yourself  into  a  vi- 
rago and  calling  names  may  do  you  good  and  me 
no  special  harm  ;  but  I  don't  crave  such  scenes,  and 
I  don't  choose  to  explain  or  justify  myself  while  you 
are  in  this  tantrum." 

"I  am  not  surprised  you  take  refuge  in  lofty' airs 
and  grand  talk,  as  you  can  have  no  possible  excuse 
for  what  you  have  done.  Oh,  I  wish  papa  were 
here  !  But  I  can  defend  myself,  Tom  Draycott." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  sneered  Tom.  All  the  time  he 
was  conscious  he  had  been  to  blame  less  in  taking 
Sphinx  out  than  in  racing  her  so  mercilessly. 

Dorothy  was  getting  exhausted  betwixt  her  grief 
over  Sphinx  and  her  anger  at  Tom.  She  struggled 
for  self-mastery,  for  some  last  words  which  might 
leave  her  at  least  mistress  of  the  situation. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say  now,  except  that  Sphinx 
belongs  solely  to  me  ;  and,  if  she  should  recover  from 
your  cruel  treatment,  you  are  never,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, to  take  her  from  the  stall  again." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  never  wish  to  do  it," 
retorted  Tom. 

At  that  instant  the  portieres  at  one  end  of  the 
apartment  moved  softly  apart,  and  Mrs.  Grayling 
stood  between  them,  a  charming  picture ;  her  blond 


292  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

hair  and  complexion  in  admirable  relief  against  her 
lavender  gown  of  some  fine  summer  fabric. 

"  My  dear  children,"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  most 
gracious  manner,  "  but  isn't  this  getting  to  be  pain- 
fully near  a  family  quarrel  ?  " 

Dorothy  felt  a  sick  thrill  go  through  her  strained 
nerves.  That  graceful,  smiling  presence  seemed 
baleful  to  her. 

Tom,  disgusted  and  mortified,  holding  Dorothy 
largely  responsible  in  the  case,  replied  with  flushed 
face  and  angry  tone,  - — 

"  It  is  what  I  should  call  a  decided  family  row,  and 
no  credit,  certainly,  to  either  of  the  parties  engaged 
in  it." 

"  Dorothy,  my  dear,"  said  the  light,  jesting  voice, 
"  you  make  me  think  of  Petruchio's  Kate,  with  those 
flushed  cheeks  and  those  blazing  eyes.  I  must  con- 
fess it  looks  dangerously  like  eavesdropping  on  my 
part;  but  I  only  entered  the  alcove  a  few  moments 
ago,  and  took  for  granted  the  talk,  with  such  a  model 
brother  and  sister,  you  know,  was  merely  a  play  at 
quarrelling.  When  I  found  it  was  something  serious, 
and  could  get  my  breath,  I  resolved  to  interfere." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  for  myself,  Aunt  Glenn ; 
and  Tom  is  equal,  certainly,  to  giving  you  his  ver- 
sion of  the  matter,"  replied  Dorothy,  and  she  left 
the  room  with  considerable  dignity. 

But  it  all  collapsed  the  moment  she  reached  her 
chamber.  She  walked  back  and  forth,  wringing  her 


A    CLIMAX  293 

hands,  her  soul  in  a  tumult  of  anger,  mortification, 
remorse. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  said  !  And  Aunt  Glenn  heard 
it  all,  and  enjoyed  it  too.  I  saw  it  in  her  eyes.  And 
my  poor  Sphinx  is  ruined,  and  Tom  and  I  have  quar- 
relled irretrievably.  He  could  forgive  anything  but 
my  calling  him  a  coward.  Such  a  proud  fellow 
never  forgets  that.  I  wonder  if  I  am  the  wickedest 
girl  in  the  world,  as  I  certainly  am  the  unhappiest  ?  " 

The  tumult  of  heart  and  brain  broke  down  soon  in 
a  storm  of  sobs. 

Tom  Draycott,  in  a  decidedly  unpleasant  frame  of 
mind,  was  left  with  his  aunt,  who  graciously  took  a 
seat  by  his  side. 

"  I  am  immensely  mortified,  Aunt  Glenn,  that  you 
should  have  been  annoyed  by  an  affair  of  this  sort," 
he  began. 

"  O  my  dear  boy,  don't  give  the  matter  a  second 
thought,"  she  interrupted  lightly.  "  It  will  never 
weigh  a  feather  with  me.  Of  course  Dorothy  car- 
ries a  high  hand  with  us  all ;  but  then,  what  can 
you  expect  of  seventeen,  especially  when  it  is  so 
fascinatingly  pretty?  I  imagine,  too,  you  were  not 
absolutely  blameless  about  Sphinx.  I  know  what 
high-headed  young  fellows  like  you  are  when  they 
get  astride  a  handsome  little  beast.  Of  course  you 
raced  her  remorselessly.  Come,  now  !  Clear  up  your 
forehead,  and  let's  have  a  game  of  backgammon 
before  supper." 


294  "SIRS,    ONLY    SEVENTEEN 


XXXVI 

YOUNG   LIFE   LOOKING    DEATH    IN   THE    FACE 

DURING  their  afternoon  ride  young  Draycott  and 
his  friend,  Joe  Reynolds,  had  agreed  to  have  a  row 
down  the  harbor  the  following  day. 

Reynolds  was  a  jolly,  good-hearted  fellow,  ruddy 
complexioned,  sandy  haired,  with  a  glimmer  of  fun 
in  his  honest  light-gray  eyes.  He  was  a  muscular, 
strong-built  youth,  used  to  handling  an  oar  or  reefing 
a  sail.  He  was  a  kind  of  amphibious  creature,  and 
his  passion  for  all  sorts  of  light  sailing-craft  had 
interfered  with  his  college  work.  He  and  Tom 
Draycott  had  a  class-liking  for  each  other ;  and  as 
Reynolds's  summer  home  was  on  the  South  Shore, 
only  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  the  }*oung  men, 
though  hardly  intimates  at  Harvard,  were  more  or 
less  together  during  the  vacation. 

The  harbor  that  summer  afternoon  was  a  scene  of 
gay,  varied,  picturesque  life,  with  its  graceful  yachts 
and  pretty  sailboats  gleaming  and  dancing  over  the 
waves  like  huge  snow-winged  sea-birds.  Then  the 
vast  crowd  of  larger  shipping  lying  at  the  wharves 
or  moving  over  the  waters,  and  the  big  gray  hulks 
of  the  steamers,  gave  variety,  interest,  and  color  to 
the  whole  picture. 


YOUNG    LIFE    LOOKING    DEATH    IN    THE    FACE       295 

The  t\vo  young  men  stood  on  the  pier,  and  gazed 
a  few  minutes  on  the  animated  scene  before  they 
leaped  into  the  rowboat.  Their  hearts  beat  high 
with  the  pride  and  strength  of  young  manhood. 
They  seized  their  oars,  swung  them  about  their 
heads,  and,  in  merry  travesty  of  their  short  row, 
shouted  together,  "  From  City  Point  to  Squan- 
tum  !  " 

Then  they  buried  their  blades  in  the  water,  and 
the  light  shell  bounded  away  like  a  live  thing  to 
their  stroke. 

As  the  young  men  started  off  in  such  gay  trim,  an 
old  seaman,  with  his  shaggy  jacket,  and  tarpaulin 
a-tilt  on  his  iron-gray  hair,  shouted  out  to  them,  — 

"  You  better  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  that  cloud  in 
the  west,  young  men,  or  you'll  be  caught  in  a  stiff 
gale  before  sunset." 

The  rowers  glanced  at  the  long,  dark  thunderous- 
looking  reef  which  lay  along  the  western  horizon. 
But  all  around  them  the  sunlight  glittered  bravely 
on  blue,  tumbling  waves  and  snowy  sails  and  slender 
masthead. 

They  nodded  gayly  to  the  sailor's  warning. 

"  That  old  tar  wants  to  send  us  off  with  a  croak," 
remarked  Reynolds  airily. 

"Or  show  off  his  nautical  prescience,"  laughed 
Tom. 

"  Them  young  blades  are  in  high  feather  now," 
muttered  the  sailor  ;  "but  they'll  have  a  black  squall 


296  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

on  'em  if  they  don't  put  in  shore  afore  they're  an 
hour  older." 

He  cocked  one  eye  aloft  again,  shook  his  head, 
and  shambled  off  the  float. 

The  young  men  bent  to  their  rowing.  Tom  had 
the  reputation  of  a  fine  Harvard  oar  in  the  class 
rows,  and  Reynolds  was  as  much  at  home  with  all 
small  sea-craft  as  he  was  in  his  own  chamber.  The 
little  boat  careened  over  the  waves.  The  rack  of 
cloud,  of  a  singular  greenish-black  color,  spread  its 
wings  toward  the  zenith.  The  classmates,  absorbed 
in  their  oars  and  the  delicious  motion,  had  no  thought 
for  the  swift-rising  cloud.  The  darkness  gloomed 
around  them  suddenly.  The  winds  sprang  up  like 
furies  that  had  broken  their  leash,  and  went  raging 
over  the  waves.  Fierce  lightnings  broke,  and  thun- 
ders roared.  All  the  light  shipping  put  in  speedily 
to  shore.  The  young  men,  alive  to  their  peril  now, 
strained  every  nerve  to  get  under  shelter. 

A  little  later  Reynolds  lifted  his  voice  over 
shrieking  winds  and  plunging  waves  and  volleying 
thunders,  — 

"  Draycott,  we  are  caught  in  a  tornado,  and  we're 
out  in  Boston  Harbor  !  " 

"You're  right,  Reynolds!  "  Tom  shouted  back. 
"  We  will  stick  to  the  oars  as  long  as  we  can  hold 
them." 

They  had  no  strength  to  waste  in  words.  Great 
livid  waves  opened  their  huge  jaws  to  swallow  that 


YOUNG  LIFE  LOOKING  DEATH  IN  THE  FACE  297 

light  craft  and  the  lives  she  carried.  Winds  roared 
and  lashed  the  air.  Hail  rattled  like  grape-shot  into 
the  boat.  The  blackness  grew  denser ;  then  all  that 
wild  welter  would  leap  out  sharp  in  the  fierce  light- 
nings, and  the  thunder  would  shake  the  world. 

The  boat  went  driving  and  stumbling  on  in  the 
teeth  of  the  gale.  Their  utmost  efforts  barely  served 
thus  far  to  keep  her  from  capsizing.  But  how  puny 
these  were !  How  long  could  she  hold  out  in  such  a 
tempest  ? 

Tom  Draycott  was  looking  death  in  the  face,  and 
he  knew  it.  It  had  come  so  suddenly  !  Less  than 
an  hour  ago  it  had  seemed  that  the  strong  young 
life  throbbing  in  his  pulses  could  never  falter  or 
wane  ;  and  now  —  he  wondered  vaguely  whether, 
if  he  looked  in  the  mirror,  he  should  see  an  old 
man. 

But  for  the  most  part  young  Draycott's  thoughts 
were  sharp  and  vivid.  He  knew  there  was  every 
likelihood  he  should  die  in  a  few  minutes,  going 
down  as  others  had  gone,  young  and  strong  as  he, 

—  he  had  read  about  them,  — in  those  hungry,  clam- 
oring waves. 

And  what  a  glorious  thing  life  looked  to  him  now 

—  now  that  it  was  slipping  away  forever  !     Why  had 
he  not  prized   it   more  ?     How  every  commonplace 
moment  seemed  to  him  charged  with  gifts  and  mean- 
ings and  blessedness  !     The  fair  endless  procession  of 
days  and  nights,  the  majestic  march  of  the  seasons, 


298  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

the  far,  arching  sky,  and  near,  green,  earth, —  how 
ineffably  beautiful  and  divine  all  these  grew  to  him 
now !  As  he  looked  back,  he  seemed  to  himself 
moving  dull  and  vacuous,  as  a  beast  might,  amid  all 
the  splendor  and  glory  which  the  past  had  caught 
as  it  was  vanishing. 

Yet  he  had  meant  to  leave  his  mark  on  the  world, 
to  do  some  brave  service  for  his  day  and  generation. 
And  to  die  like  this,  in  the  very  dawn  of  manhood, 
with  all  its  high  hopes,  purposes,  aspirations,  unful- 
filled ! 

An  instant  later  his  thoughts  leaped  to  Red  Knolls. 
Everything  was  swallowed  up  in  that.  Oh,  the  dear 
old  home !  The  threshold  he  would  never  cross 
again  !  The  familiar  roof  he  would  see  no  more  be- 
hind the  elms  ! 

When  it  came  to  his  mother,  Tom's  thoughts 
turned  away  ;  they  could  not  face  that  breaking  heart. 
The  bitterness  of  death  had  come  now. 

There  was  his  father,  too,  whose  strong,  tender 
manhood  would  gird  itself  for  the  sake  of  others,  but 
who  would  go  mourning  to  the  grave  for  his  drowned 
boy.  And  Dorothy  !  All  the  old  happy  days  of 
their  childhood,  the  frolics,  the  foolish  quarrels,  the 
makings-up,  crowded  back  on  his  memory. 

And  every  careless  word,  every  angry  temper, 
especially  the  things  which  had  happened  in  these 
last  days,  came  up  to  reproach  him  mightily.  He 
took  all  the  blame  to  himself ;  he  had  been  cruel  to 


YOUNG    LIFE    LOOKING    DEATH    IN    THE   FACE     299 

that  young1  sister.  She  would  remember  when  the 
knowledge  had  come,  when  the  shadow  whicli  would 
never  lift  had  fallen  upon  Red  Knolls.  If  he  could 
only  put  his  arm  about  her  for  one  last  minute,  and 
say,  — 

"  Don't  think  about  it,  Dollikins  !  It  was  all  my 
fault !  " 

His  cheek  was  wet  now  with  something  besides 
the  salt  dashing  of  the  spray. 

And  amid  these  dearest  home-loves,  others  came 
to  him.  There  were  his  classmates.  How  cut  up 
the  fellows  would  be  when  they  knew !  There  were 
hearts,  too,  who  would  carry  a  silent,  empty  room  all 
their  days  for  his  sake, — Nanty  Dayles,  and  John 
Amoury  and  his  wife. 

Dake  Cramley  came  up  too.  What  a  stunning 
blow  it  would  be  to  that  poor  fellow  !  It  comforted 
Tom  to  think  he  and  Daisy  would  not  go  unfriended. 
For  his  own  sake  the  two  would  always  be  dear  to 
the  father  and  mother  and  Dorothy. 

There  were  other  thoughts,  too,  which  went  out 
into  the  great  Unknown  that  was  drawing  so  close. 
When  all  that  could  die  was  lying  silent  and  motion- 
less, on  what  mysterious  life,  what  new  plane  of 
existence,  would  the  indestructible  Self  have  entered  ? 
Would  there  be  some  great,  overpowering  surprise, 
or  would  the  new  day  rise  slowly,  peacefully,  like  the 
dawns  of  this  world?  Would  he  forget  everything 
else  in  the  wonder  of  the  change  ?  Would  the  old 


300  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

memories  ever  come  back  ?  Or  would  they  be  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  great  blank  like  that  which  veils  the 
beginnings  of  all  human  lives?  The  swift-flashing 
questions  which  rose  in  his  thoughts  were  the  ques- 
tions which  reach  the  deepest  soundings  of  human 
souls.  Tom  Draycott  tried  to  trust  his  future  with 
the  infinite  Love  and  Care  which  had  been  about  him 
all  his  life,  which  he  felt  now  were  around  all  human 
lives. 

All  this  time  the  boat  had  been  plunging  before 
the  gale,  shuddering  down  into  great  abysses  of  seas, 
then  shouldered  by  some  towering  wave,  on  the  crest 
of  which  she  rocked  and  quivered.  Oar  and  rudder 
were  useless  now.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
cling  to  the  boat  and  wait. 

Suddenly  Tom  heard  a  voice  above  the  clamor, — 

"  Draycott,  I  don't  think  she  can  stand  it  much 
longer." 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Reynolds;  but  when  it  comes 
we'll  go  down  together." 

"  I'd  like  to  take  your  hand  once  more  and  hear 
you  say  good-by." 

They  reached  amid  the  blackness  and  the  howling 
for  each  other's  hands. 

"Good-by,  Reynolds!  Say  a  prayer  for  me,  as  I 
shall  for  you." 

The  boat  slipped,  quivering,  shuddering,  into  the 
wide  green  trough  of  sea.  But  a  little  later  she 
rode  on  another  crest  of  wave. 


YOUNG    LIFE    LOOKING   DEATH    IN   THE   FACE      301 

The  blackness  seemed  to  lighten  by  a  shade. 

After  a  little  a  voice  which  young  Draycott  never 
expected  to  hear  again,  shouted,  — 

"  I  think  we  are  off  Savin  Hill,  and  we  are  driv- 
ing straight  on  shore." 

The  tornado,  after  the  nature  of  tornadoes,  must 
be  brief. 


302  "  SIRS,    ONLY,    SEVENTEEN  " 


XXXVII 

WHERE   WAS   TOM? 

DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT  had  had  the  most  restless, 
unhappy  day  of  her  life. 

The  first  thing  she  did  after  breakfast  was  to  visit 
the  stable,  where  she  found  matters  decidedly  im- 
proved. Steve  thought  Sphinx  would,  with  rest  and 
proper  care,  come  out  all  right,  though  another  such 
race  would  be  her  undoing. 

Dorothy  lavished  caresses  and  sugar  on  Sphinx  for 
a  half-hour  before  she  returned  to  the  house.  But 
all  her  satisfaction  over  the  mare  could  not  stifle  a 
feeling  that  something  was  wrong  at  the  heart  of 
things. 

Mrs.  Grayling  had  gone  to  the  city  that  morning, 
and  Tom  had  left  soon  after  breakfast.  Neither  at 
that  meal  nor  at  dinner  the  night  before,  at  which 
Dorothy  had  forced  herself  to  be  present,  had  there 
been  any  allusion  to  the  affairs  of  the  afternoon. 

Aunt  Glenn  had,  with  her  usual  adroitness,  re- 
lieved the  tension  between  the  young  people  by  her 
agreeable  talk  at  table.  As  Dorothy's  anxiety  about 
Sphinx  was  largely  dissipated,  she  could  reflect 
more  calmly  on  what  had  occurred  the  previous 


WHEKE    WAS    TOM?  303 

day.  Some  of  her  speeches  reproached  her  con- 
science. "  Of  course  she  had  been  greatly  aggra- 
vated, but  she  had  gone  too  far.  Some  time  she 
would  admit  this  to  Tom,  when  Aunt  Glenn  had 
gone  and  they  were  alone  together." 

Dorothy  tried  to  drown  her  thoughts  in  some 
songs  at  the  piano,  in  her  drawings,  in  a  walk  out- 
doors, in  a  romp  with  Hidalgo ;  but  nothing  quite 
served.  The  world  can  sometimes  seem  stale,  flat, 
and  unprofitable  even  to  seventeen. 

Aunt  Glenn  returned  in  the  early  afternoon,  and, 
tired  by  the  heat,  had  her  lunch  served  in  her 
room. 

The  tornado  which  burst  upon  Boston  Harbor 
spread  its  black  wings  inland,  and  darkened  over 
Red  Knolls.  The  tempest  broke  there  with  swift 
lightning-bolts,  volleys  of  thunder,  and  fierce  winds 
that  scourged  the  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  sent 

O  \J     ' 

clouds  of  hailstones  rattling  against  the  windows. 

Dorothy  was  a  brave  girl,  but  she  never  remem- 
bered a  tempest  like  this.  She  was  all  alone  too, 
pacing  her  room,  her  nerves  shrinking  at  each  red 
glare  of  lightning,  each  deafening  crash  of  thunder. 
She  shrank  from  going  to  Aunt  Glenn,  even  in  her 
fright  and  solitude ;  and  it  did  not  become  the 
mistress  of  Red  Knolls  to  resort  to  her  servants  for 
the  courage  she  ought  rather  to  inspire. 

So  Dorothy's  young  brain  reasoned  as  she  tried  to 
brace  herself  against  her  fears.  All  at  once  a  low, 


804  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

wailing  cry  broke  from  her  lips.  She  stood  still  as 
though  one  of  those  fiery  lightning-bolts  had  struck 
her. 

"  Was  Tom  out  in  Boston  Harbor  ?  Had  the  tor- 
nado caught  him?  " 

Mrs.  Grayling  had  just  finished  her  late  lunch. 
She  had  drawn  her  chair  away  from  the  window. 
Though  her  nerves  were  constitutionally  strong,  she 
was  beginning  to  be  appalled  by  the  fury  of  the  tem- 
pest. 

There  was  a  quick  knock  at  the  door ;  and,  before 
she  could  answer,  her  niece  entered.  In  the  semi- 
darkness  Mrs.  Grayling  saw  the  white  face,  the  scared 
eyes. 

"  Aunt  Glenn,  what  does  this  mean?  "  cried  Doro- 
thy breathlessly. 

"It  means  nothing  less  than  a  tornado,  child. 
Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you,  I  can't,"  speaking  in  rapid,  ex- 
cited tones.  She  had  drawn  near  the  lady,  and  stood 
still.  "  Aunt  Glenn,  do  you  remember  what  Tom 
said  at  breakfast  about  going  down  the  harbor?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"  But  if  lie  should  be  caught  out  in  this  storm  "  — 
she  did  not  complete  the  sentence. 

Mrs.  Grayling  looked  startled.  "  Tom !  Oh,  I 
hope  not!  "  she  exclaimed  sharply. 

"  He  would  be  drowned,  Aunt  Glenn  !  " 

The    words   were   low,  but  Mrs.    Grayling   heard 


WHERE    WAS   TOM?  305 

them.  At  that  instant  some  other  words  leaped  into 
her  memory.  She  heard  the  same  young  voice,  stern 
with  shocked  surprise,  calling  her  a  "  wicked  woman." 
The  speech,  the  tones,  had,  as  we  have  seen,  rankled 
in  her  memory  ever  since.  They  hardened  her  now. 

Mrs.  Grayling  did  not  in  her  heart  believe  Tom 
was  in  peril.  She  took  it  for  granted  that  if  he  had 
started  out  in  the  boat  he  would  have  sufficient  warn- 
ing of  the  approaching  storm  to  put  in  shore. 

But  this  visit  to  Red  Knolls  had,  for  various  rea- 
sons, aroused  all  the  bitterest  feelings  and  memories 
of  a  nature  not  devoid  of  generous  impulses  and  as- 
pects. Dorothy's  question  —  her  evident  alarm  —  had 
given  Mrs.  Grayling  her  chance.  She  thought  only 
of  that. 

"I  can  hardly  see  what  would  save  him  if  he  should 
be  out  in  the  harbor  in  such  a  tempest.  But  I  am 
going  to  be  sensible  and  believe  he  is  not,"  she  replied 
quietly. 

"  But  he  is  very  rash ;  he  would  be  likely  to 
start  if  the  storm  were  not  on  him.  O  Aunt  Glenn  ! " 
the  rapid  voice  full  of  agonized  pleading,  "  how  could 
we  let  him  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Grayling  in  her  softest  tones 

—  tones  which  Dorothy's  nerves  had  learned  to  shiver 

at,  "  it  would,  we  must  confess,  have  been  wiser  to 

face  any  possible  storm  of  reproach  than  a  tornado ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Glenn  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  know,  Dorothy  !     He  told  me  last 


306  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

night  that  he  should  not  vex  you  again  by  riding 
Sphinx.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  for  a  run  out  in 
the  harb6r  to-day." 

Dorothy  shuddered  through  every  fibre  of  her  be- 
ing. The  darkness  had  deepened.  Her  aunt  could 
not  see  the  look  on  her  face.  The  next  words  were 
words  of  life  or  death  to  Dorothy  Draycott. 

"But  he  said — at  least  I  understood  him  —  at 
breakfast,  that  he  and  Reynolds  had  arranged  yester- 
day for  a  row  down  the  harbor." 

"  Did  he  ?  Then  I  must  have  been  mistaken.  I 
gathered  it  was  an  afterthought  on  his  part." 

Aunt  Glenn  made  herself  believe  she  was  telling 
the  truth. 

"  Aunt  Glenn,  do  you  mean  to  say  I  am  Tom's 
murderer  ?  " 

Mrs.  Grayling  moved  uneasily.  She  had  gone  far 
enough. 

"  Nonsense,  child !  Don't  go  into  hysterics.  Of 
course  I  meant  nothing  of  that  sort.  I  have  quite 
too  much  respect  for  Tom  Draycott's  wits  to  believe 
he  would  start  out  in  a  row-boat  in  a  tornado.  Ugh ! 
This  wind  will  bring  the  house  about  our  ears  ! " 

Dorothy  turned  and  left  the  room  without  a 
word. 

Aunt  Glenn  half  rose  to  follow  her  niece.  Then 
a  blaze  of  lightning  dazzled  her  eyes.  She  sat  down 
amid  the  deafening  thunder,  and  for  the  next  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  was  really  too  frightened  to  leave  the 


WHERE    WAS   TOM?  307 

room.  She  concluded  Dorothy  would  go  straight  to 
the  servants,  who  would  probably  reassure  her  about 
Tom.  She  had  herself  no  serious  fears  regarding 
her  nephew's  safety.  "  As  for  his  sister,  it  would 
only  do  that  saucy  little  minx  good  to  have  a 
scare/' 

As  the  storm  abated,  followed  by  a  cooler  temper- 
ature, Mrs.  Grayling  grew  drowsy.  She  threw  her- 
self on  the  bed,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

Dorothy  went  straight  to  her  room.  She  huddled 
herself  down  on  a  corner  of  the  lounge.  She  scarcely 
heeded  the  raging  of  the  storm.  Those  fierce  light- 
nings, those  splitting  thunders,  though  they  were  the 
crack  of  doom,  mattered  little  now.  Her  brain,  her 
heart,  were  full  of  one  thought,  'one  image,  and  that 
was  Tom.  If  he  should  never  come  back  again,  if 
she  had  sent  him,  her  big,  splendid  brother,  to  his 
death,  what  was  left  to  care  for?  She  sat  still,  the 
white  tall  girl ;  she  did  not  faint  nor  shriek,  because 
to  do  this  was  not  in  the  Draycott  blood ;  but  she 
stared  with  great  tearless  eyes  into  the  darkness. 
The  future  stretched  before  her  long,  solitary,  hope- 
less. What  would  the  days  be  without  Tom  ?  Would 
she  hear  his  ringing  step,  his  loud,  joyous  laugh,  his 
eager  call,  no  more,  no  more  ? 

She  thought  of  her  father  and  mother's  return  ; 
she  and  Tom  had  so  often -talked  together  of  that 
moment.  They  had  arranged  to  stand  side  by  side 
in  the  front  door  as  the  carriage  came  up  the  drive. 


308  "  SIRS,   ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

Dorothy  had  a  dreadful  vision  of  herself  standing  in 
the  wide  doorway  all  alone  —  she  who  had  murdered 
Tom !  She  might  not  speak  the  words,  but  when 
they  looked  in  her  eyes  they  would  know. 

For  Dorothy,  with  the  long-repressed  tension  of 
these  days,  with  her  irritated  nerves  and  her  excited 
imagination,  was  now  in  a  dangerously  morbid  con- 
dition. The  words  she  had  spoken  rose  and  filled 
all  the  air  like  reproachful  voices.  She  put  her 
fingers  in  her  ears,  but  she  heard  still  above  all  those 
crashing  thunders.  She  would  hear  all  her  life! 
And  Tom,  in  that  row-boat  out  in  the  harbor,  might 
be  going  down  at  that  very  moment!  And  those 
words  had  caused  his  death  !  Aunt  Glenn  would 
always  think  so ;  ancf  she,  Dorothy  Draycott,  would 
she  not  know  it? 

Once,  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  It  was  opened  softly,  and  a  maid  looked 
into  the  room.  She  was  searching  for  her  young 
mistress,  herself  terrified  by  the  storm.  In  her  ex- 
citement Dorothy  neither  saw  nor  heard.  The  maid 
did  not  perceive  through  the  dimness  the  figure  on 
a  cortter  of  the  sofa.  She  took  for  granted  that 
Dorothy  had  gone  to  her  aunt. 

The  tornado  passed  away  as  tornadoes  do,  sweep- 
ing their  black,  low-trailing  skirts  from  the  summer 
sky.  The  wide  air  grew 'calm  and  sweet  as  though 
no  winds  had  ever  charged  in  wild  fury  through  it ; 
the  storm-beaten  earth  shone  once  more,  glad  with 
leafage  and  bloom,  in  the  sunshine. 


WHEttE   WAS   TOM?  309 

But  the  girl  still  sat  motionless  on  the  lounge,  with. 
bright,  dry  eyes  staring  out  of  the  white  face.  She 
did  not  know  that  the  storm  had  passed,  that  the  sun 
was  shining  all  around  her. 

Where  was  Tom  ? 


310  "SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN 


XXXVIII 

AFTER   THE   TORNADO 

"  DOROTHY,  Dorothy  !  " 

The  voice  rang  loud,  eager,  imperative,  through 
the  house. 

A  moment  later  a  door  swung  back,  a  pair  of  light 
feet  glanced  along  the  hall  and  down  the  staircase, 
and  Dorothy  Draycott  stood  before  her  brother. 

He  held  her  to  his  heart.  The  words  he  tried  to 
speak  died  in  his  throat. 

Dorothy  spoke  first.  He  would  hardly  have  recog- 
nized that  low,  awesome,  strained  voice. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  you,  Tom  ?  " 

He  looked  in  her  white,  drawn  face,  in  her  dry, 
staring  eyes.  What  had  happened  to  her? 

All  he  had  gone  through  during  the  last  hours  had 
been  a  terrible  strain  on  soul  and  body.  The  winds 
had  driven  the  boat  straight  on  Savin  Beach,  and  the 
young  men  were  blown  into  the  surf  close  to  the 
shore.  After  a  little  while  they  staggered  to  their 
feet,  and  managed  to  drag  themselves,  drenched,  diz- 
zied, exhausted,  to  Reynolds's  summer  home,  where 
the  household  was  appalled  at  the  appearance  of  the 
youths  and  their  late  peril,  not  having  dreamed  they 
were  out  in  the  storm. 


AFTER   THE   TORNADO  311 

Every  attention  and  sympathy  was,  of  course,  lav- 
ished on  the  pair.  Tom  was,  however,  so  consumed 
by  a  desire  to  reach  Red  Knolls,  that  nothing  short 
of  an  exertion  of  physical  force  could  have  induced 
him  to  remain  over  night.  After  three  hours'  rest 
and  refreshment  he  was  driven  to  the  station. 

The  brother  and  sister  stared  at  each  other  with  a 
kind  of  solemn  curiosity  and  tenderness,  as  though  a 
grave  lay  between  them.  By  this  time  Tom  began 
to  perceive  vaguely  that  something  was  the  matter 
with  Dorothy.  Hardly  able  to  stand  himself,  he,  by 
sheer  force  of  will,  seized  her  in  his  arms,  carried  her 
up  the  stairs,  and  placed  her  on  the  bed.  He  put 
down  his  cheek  to  hers  without  a  word. 

"  You  are  sure  it  is  you,  Tom  ?  You  have  come 
back  to  me  alive  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  head  at  the  low,  scared  voice,  and 
gazed  at  her  with  growing  anxiety. 

"  Of  course  I  have  come  back !  The  same  bump- 
tious, cantankerous  old  rascal  you  have  known  all 
your  life.  Who  else  should  I  be  ?  " 

She  did  not  smile  ;  she  drew  a  long,  moaning  sigh. 

"  It  seems  so  long  since  I  saw  you.  Was  it  only 
this  morning  you  went  away?  " 

"  Only  this  morning." 

But  though  he  stoutly  affirmed  this,  he  could 
hardly  believe  it. 

"  But,"  speaking  in  a  low,  scared  tone,  half  to 
herself,  "  I  thought  I  had  murdered  you,  and  papa 


312  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

and  mamma  would  come  home  and  have  to  know, 
and  that  nothing  would  ever  be  the  same  again." 

"  Murdered  me  ! "  repeated  Tom,  thoroughly  puz- 
zled and  alarmed  by  this  time  ;  "  I'm  not  so  easily 
killed  as  you  seem  to  imagine.  Here  I  stand,  no 
ghost  revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon,  but  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  solid  bone  and  muscle 
at  your  service.  But  what  an  insane  idea  it  all  is  ! 
What  put  it  into  your  head,  Dollikins  ?  " 

"  It  was  Aunt  Glenn.     I  know  what  she  thought." 

A  few  minutes  later  Tom  knocked  at  Mrs.  Gray- 
ling's door.  She  had  just  risen  from  her  nap. 

She  greeted  her  nephew  effusively.  "  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you,  Tom  !  What  a  frightful  storm  it  has 
been  !  Then  I  had  a  good  deal  of  a  scare  about  you, 
lest  you  might  be  caught  in  the  gale.  My  dear  boy, 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  safe  and  sound." 

She  looked  at  him  with  real  fondness.  He  had 
never  seemed  to  her  quite  so  much  like  his  father  as 
at  that  moment. 

"  Thank  you,  Aunt  Glenn.  I  was  out  in  the  gale. 
It  seemed  a  miracle  that  I  lived  through  it.  But 
that  story  will  wait.  Aunt  Glenn,  what  is  the  matter 
with  Dorothy  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  hope." 

"  But  there  is  —  something  serious,  I  fear." 

His  manner,  more  than  his  words,  startled  Mrs. 
Grayling. 

"Won't  you  be  more  explicit,  Tom,  dear?" 


AFTER   THE   TORNADO  313 

"She  is  talking  and  moaning  in  the  most  curious 
way.  It  is  all  so  unlike  her !  There  is  a  strange 
look  in  her  eyes  too.  She  keeps  insisting  she 
thought  she  had  murdered  me,  and  says  you  thought 
so  too.  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

A  flash  of  consciousness  came  and  went  in  Mrs. 
Grayling's  eyes.  Tom  caught  it. 

"Aunt  Glenn,"  he  asked  almost  sternly,  "what 
have  you  been  saying  to  Dorothy  ? " 

She  began  to  feel  alarmed  now.  But  with  her 
usual  tact  she  tried  to  disguise  this.  She  briefly 
related  Dorothy's  visit  to  her  room  in  the  storm. 

"  I  was  a  good  deal  frightened  myself,  Tom,  and  I 
may  have  said  something  which  alarmed  her,  or 
which  she  misinterpreted.  One  has  always  to  be 
on  guard  in  dealing  with  these  sensitive  natures. 
Of  course  I  am  awfully  sorry;  but  I  will  see  her 
at  once,  and  set  it  all  right." 

Tom  eagerly  assented.  The  two  went  together  to 
Dorothy's  room. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  her  aunt  at  the  door 
the  girl  gave  a  low,  shuddering  cry. 

"  Oh,  do  go  away  —  please  to  go  away,  Aunt 
Glenn  ! "  she  moaned.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  kill 
Tom." 

The  sight  of  her  face,  the  wild  eyes,  the  terrified 
gestures,  thoroughly  disconcerted  Mrs.  Grayling. 
She  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  trying  to  gather 
herself  together,  was  advancing  to  the  bedside, 


314  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

when  Tom,  who  had  seen  his  sister's  look  and  heard 
her  cry,  interfered. 

"Aunt  Glenn,  excuse  me,  but — don't  you  see? 
You  can  do  her  no  good  now." 

He  meant  to  be  courteous  ;  but  he  spoke  with  some 
air  of  authority,  and  he  looked  like  his  father's  son. 

Aunt  Glenn  without  a  word  turned  and  went. 

She  regained  her  own  room  in  a  most  uncomfort- 
able frame  of  mind.  She  was  too  acute  not  to  per- 
ceive all  which  lay  behind  her  niece's  horror  of  her 
presence.  Her  late  conduct  rose  to  her  now  in  vivid 
lights.  She  had  allowed  the  jealousies  and  grudges 
of  years  to  slip  their  leash,  and  they  had  carried  her 
headlong  arid  triumphant  their  own  evil  way. 

Mrs.  Grayling  winced  internally  as  she  recalled 
some  of  her  speeches.  She  felt  a  sudden  access  of 
pity  for  her  niece.  What  would  her  father  have 
said  if  he  had  seen  his  child's  look,  heard  her  recoil- 
ing cry,  at  sight  of  his  sister's  presence?  It  was 
Donald's  child,  and  not  Grace  Dabney's,  she  thought 
of  now. 

A  little  later  the  doctor  came.  He  was  an  old 
family  friend,  and  of  course  Dorothy  was  a  pet  with 
him.  He  looked  gravely  at  the  bright  young  girl 
who  lay  there  white  and  helpless,  moaning  occasion- 
ally to  herself,  or  starting  up  suddenly,  and  staring 
with  frightened  eyes  about  the  room. 

He  saw  at  once  that  the  girl  had  undergone  some 
powerful  shock  which  had  prostrated  her  physically 


AFTER    THE   TORNADO  315 

and  mentally.  He  suspected  that  behind  this,  and 
more  or  less  causing  it,  lay  some  prolonged  nervous 
tension. 

Tom,  listening  to  the  doctor,  when  the  two  were 
alone  together,  writhed  inwardly ;  for  a  sudden 
light  smote  his  memory.  Many  an  irritable  mood, 
many  an  unkind  speech,  with  a  general  manner  of 
indifference  and  aloofness,  of  which  he  had  been  only 
half  conscious  at  the  time,  rose  before  him  now. 

"  What  sort  of  a  devil  had  got  into  him  ? "  he 
wondered. 

"  You  think,  doctor,  she  will  come  out  of  this  in  a 
little  while  ?  "  he  asked  greedily. 

"  I  hope  —  yes,  I  think  so.  Her  youth  and  her 
fine  constitution  are  immense  factors  in  her  favor." 

"  But  if  things  go  wrong?  " 

"Then  you  insist  upon  having  the  possible  worst?  " 

"  Yes."     The  pale  young  fellow  braced  himself. 

"She  will  have  brain-fever,  or  what  you  would 
dread,  perhaps,  more  than  that." 

When  Tom  joined  his  aunt  again,  he  repeated  the 
doctor's  alternative.  She  was  greatly  startled  and 
distressed.  She  tried  to  express  her  sympathy,  and 
was  profuse  in  offers  of  service ;  but  her  tactful 
speech  somehow  failed  her.  Even  to  herself  there 
seemed  some  false  ring  in  all  she  said.  Tom's  face 
more  than  his  words  showed  his  anxiety.  He  never 
once  alluded  to  his  experience  in  the  harbor. 


310  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

"  I  am  simply  de  trap  here !  "  Mrs.  Grayling  said 
to  herself  when  she  returned  to  her  room,  feeling 
more  humiliated  than  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life. 

Her  memory  did  not  spare  her  as  she  paced  the 
floor.  She  would  have  given  anything  she  possessed 
to  recall  some  of  her  speeches.  She  knew  that  Dor- 
othy was  the  very  apple  of  her  father's  eye.  How 
could  she  ever  look  him  in  the  face,  if  what  the 
doctor  had  hinted  as  a  possibility  should  come  to 
pass  ?  She  wrung  her  hands,  shuddering  away  from 
that  thought. 

The  following  day  Mrs.  Grayling  received  a  tele- 
gram from  home  which  made  her  immediate  return 
indispensable.  Her  husband  was  seriously  ill. 

Tom  accompanied  his  aunt  to  the  station.  It 
seemed  to  her  he  had  grown  ten  years  older.  She 
had  not  the  courage  to  ask  to  see  her  niece. 

Tom's  reflections  that  morning  had  not  been  of  a 
nature  to  soften  his  feelings  toward  his  aunt;  but  he 
did  pity  her  at  the  parting,  which  was  still  a  great 
relief  to  him. 


FIRST   AND    LAST  —  DOIIOTHY   DRAYCOTT       317 


XXXIX 

FIRST   AND   LAST  —  DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT 

FIVE  days  had  passed.  They  had  been  anxious 
days  at  Red  Knolls.  A  chill,  a  foreboding,  haunted 
the  air. 

She  who  had  been  the  life  and  joy  of  the  house- 
hold lay  silent,  nerveless,  prostrated.  She  never 
complained.  To  all  their  questionings  she  answered 
that  she  suffered  no  pain  ;  but  all  the  high  tides  of 
young  abounding  life  were  at  ebb  now.  Nothing 
had  power  to  rouse  or  interest  her.  She  was  only 
uneasy  if  Tom  were  long  out  of  sight.  When  he 
returned  she  clutched  his  coat-sleeve  and  devoured 
him  with  those  big,  pathetic,  tearless  eyes. 

Tom  Draycott  was  devotion  itself  during  these 
days.  He  cudgelled  his  brains  for  stories  to  tell  his 
sister — stories  rife  with  the  fun,  spirit,  daring,  of 
undergraduate  life  and  gayety.  These  would  once 
have  sent  her  off  into  paroxysms  of  laughter.  Now 
they  barely  elicited  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  Then  he 
would  devise  some  other  method  for  arresting  the 
current  of  thoughts  which  he  knew  —  with  a  pang 
which  smote  to  his  inmost  being  —  was  all  setting 
in  one  direction,  toward  one  memory. 


318  "SIRS,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

He  often  carried  Dorothy  out  on  the  chamber  bal- 
cony, and  placed  her  on  the  cushions  among  the 
summer  boughs  and  flowers  and  birds ;  but  it  was 
not  merely  a  metaphor  now  when  the  whole  house- 
hold declared  that  "  within  the  last  days  the  flesh 
was  dropping  from  Master  Tom's  bones." 

"I  am  so  tired  I  can't  talk,"  Dorothy  would  say 
in  a  half-appealing,  half-apologetic  tone.  "  You 
won't  be  gone  long,  Tom?  " 

"  Of  course  I  sha'n't !  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  try  the  role  of  Prince  of  Bores.  I  intend  to  make 
a  success  of  it  too.  I  have  such  a  good  chance  to 
begin  just  now,  with  you.  You  will  be  wishing  I 
were  at  the  antipodes  before  long,  Dollikins-!  " 

It  was  his  cue  to  keep  up  through  all  this  dark, 
anxious  time  the  old  talk,  the  habit  of  jest  and 
chaffing. 

The  doctor  came  every  day,  brought  his  kindly 
face,  his  air  of  bustling,  cheery  life,  to  the  bedside ; 
but  he  looked  grave  when  he  went  away. 

To  Tom's  anxious  questioning  he  answered,  — 

"  Medicine  is  beyond  her  case.  We  must  leave  na- 
ture to  come  to  the  fore.  Something  may  bring  her 
out  of  it  all  in  a  hurry,  and  it  may  take  months. 
She  has  had  an  awful  shock,  and  soul  and  body  can't 
react  at  once." 

By  this  time  the  doctor  had  learned  from  Tom 
about  his  narrow  escape  in  the  tornado,  and  the  long 
afternoon  of  terror  which  had  nearly  upset  his  sis- 
ter's reason. 


FIRST    AND    LAST DOROTHY   DRAYCOTT        319 

During  these  clays  Tom  Draycott  was  gaining 
some  self-knowledge,  very  salt  and  bitter  and  good. 

While  he  laid  a  large  share  of  the  responsibility 
for  his  sister's  condition  at  Aunt  Glenn's  door,  Tom 
Draycott  did  not  spare  himself. 

Dorothy  had  not  once  alluded  to  her  aunt.  But 
Tom  had  seen  the  look  of  ineffable  relief  on  the  girl's 
face  when  she  learned  of  Mre.  Grayling's  departure. 
No  words  could  have  been  so  effective. 

Memory  flashed  now  her  powerful  search-light  over 
the  last  three  weeks.  Tom  Draycott  saw  himself  — 
the  weaknesses,  faults,  quicksands,  of  his  nature,  as 
he  had  never  seen  them  before.  He  recalled  with 
a  tin-ill  of  self-loathing  the  power  which  Mrs.  Gray- 
ling had  gained  over  him.  How  flaccid  he  had  been 
under  her  spell !  How  she  had  flattered  his  self- 
conceit,  and  amused  him  by  her  sarcasms !  How 
he  had  tried  to  show  off  before  her,  and  affected 
smart  speeches  and  detracting  witticisms  !  Faugh ! 
Tom  remembered  how  lie  had  cherished  high  ideals, 
and  fancied  himself,  on  the  whole,  a  fine,  manly  fel- 
low. He  had  set  himself  up  as  a  model  for  Dake 
Cramley.  Why,  that  boy,  with  his  drunken  mother, 
and  his  birth  and  bringing-up  of  the  slums,  was 
worth  a  dozen  of  him  ! 

But  what  filled  Tom  Draycott  with  boundless  sur- 
prise, shook  his  young  confidence  in  himself  to  the 
roots  of  his  being,  was  to  perceive  that  a  disturbing 
alienating  influence,  an  intriguing  woman,  who,  with 


320  "sins,  ONLY  SEVENTEEN" 

all  her  attractions,  must  have  had  some  small  spite 
to  gratify,  had  come  between  him  and  Dorothy,  his 
own  sister,  with  whom  he  had  grown  up,  whose 
every  thought  and  feeling  he  had  shared  from  the 
time  when  she  pattered  by  his  side  in  the  grass  at 
Red  Knolls  and  they  made  sand-pies  together. 

"I  shall  carry  my  self-disgust  through  life,"  said 
the  poor  fellow.  "  A  troglodyte  would  have  seen 
farther !  A  brute  would  have  behaved  better  than  I 
did  toDollikins!" 

At  the  end  of  five  days  Mrs.  Dayles,  tearing  her- 
self away  in  response  to  Tom's  telegram,  appeared. 
When  Dorothy  caught  sight  of  the  small  familiar 
figure  in  the  doorway,  she  lifted  her  head  from  the 
pillow,  and  stretched  out  her  arms. 

"  O  my  darling,  what  have  they  been  doing  to 
you?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dayles,  as  she  saw  the 
changed  white  face. 

"  If  you  had  been  here  it  would  never  have  hap- 
pened," whispered  the  girl  as  she  clung  to  her 
friend. 

Then  Mrs.  Dayles  might  have  exclaimed,  "  Oh  my 
prophetic  soul — Aunt  Glenn!"  She  had  been  un- 
easy ever  since  she  learned  of  Mrs.  Grayling's  advent 
at  Red  Knolls.  The  quiet,  simple  woman  meeting 
the  proud,  brilliant  one  a  few  times  had  fathomed 
the  real  character  under  all  the  brilliance  and  gra- 
ciousness. 

That   night  Tom   and   Mrs.   Dayles  sat  alone  to- 


FIRST   AND   LAST — DOROTHY   DRAYCOTT       321 

getlier  after  dinner.  It  was  very  warm,  and  the 
lights  in  the  room  burned  dim. 

"  Do  tell  me  all  about  it,  Tom  !  " 

Mrs.  Dayles  had  said  the  words  in  precisely  that 
tone  many  a  time  when  he  was  a  rollicking,  careless 
boy,  and  had  got  into  some  trouble  with  his  fun  or 
his  mischief. 

Tom  felt  like  that  boy  once  more.  He  drew  a 
low  seat  in  front  of  her.  He  began  to  speak  of 
Mrs.  Grayling's  visit.  But  the  brief  sentences  and 
the  forced  reserves  confirmed  his  hearer's  worst  sus- 
picions. 

Tom  Draycott  could  not  forget  he  was  speaking  of 
his  father's  sister,  even  when  he  admitted  that  her 
visit  to  Red  Knolls  had  signally  failed  to  bring  hap- 
piness to  anybody.  Dorothy  had  suffered  the  most. 
It  was  largely  his  fault;  no  doubt  Aunt  Glenn  had 
just  fascinated  him. 

'•  She  would  almost  any  man,  if  she  really  set  out 
to  charm  him,"  interposed  Mrs.  Dayles,  with  a  little 
note  of  indignation  in  her  voice. 

"  Poor  Dollikins  !  "  continued  Tom.  "  She  had  a 
hard  time  between  us.  I  treated  her  shamefully 
sometimes." 

"  O  Tom  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  true.  I  don't  deserve  your  pity.  It 
isn't  pleasant  for  a  fellow  to  look  back  and  see  he  has 
made  a  cad  of  himself." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  talk  had  changed.     There 


322  "  SIRS,    ONLY   SEVENTEEN  " 

were  no  more  interjections  from  his  hearer,  who 
shuddered  as  she  listened.  Tom  was  relating  for 
the  first  time  his  experience  in  the  harbor.  He  told 
it  in  short,  salient  sentences,  each  one  of  which  was 
instinct  with  the  feeling  and  peril  of  the  time. 
While  he  talked,  Tom  Draycott  was  living  it  all 
over  again.  The  storm  was  thundering  about  him ; 
the  livid,  hungry  waves  were  yawning  for  him  ;  he 
was  looking  death  in  the  face  once  more. 

When  he  had  finished  he  laid  his  head  in  Mrs. 
Dayles's  lap.  She  heard  two  or  three  sharp  sobs. 

"  My  poor  boy  !  " 

It  was  all  she  could  say  amid  her  tears. 

Just  before  they  began  talking  a  light  figure  had 
entered  the  alcove  and  flung  itself  on  the  lounge. 
The  maid,  supposing  Dorothy  still  slept,  had  gone 
into  the  next  room,  leaving  the  door  ajar.  The  girl 
awoke  and  grew  restless  in  the  silence  and  solitude. 
In  a  little  while  she  rose,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
her  illness  stole  down  the  stairs,  and  threw  herself 
on  a  lounge  in  the  alcove. 

In  a  few  moments  Tom  and  Mrs.  Dayles  entered 
the  larger  adjoining  room.  The  portieres  were  drawn 
apart.  Dorothy,  motionless  on  her  lounge,  could 
hear  every  syllable  which  Tom  said  to  Mrs.  Dayles. 
At  last  the  girl  rose  and  glided  away,  softly  as 
a  spirit. 

But  Dorothy  Draycott  did  not  return  to  her  room 
that  night  as  she  had  left  it.  There  was  a  glow  of 


FIRST   AND   LAST  —  DOROTHY  DRAYCOTT       323 

amazement,  gratitude,  joy,  in  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  radiant ;  her  lips  trembled.  Then  there  swept 
over  all  a  great  healing,  blessed  storm  of  tears. 

When  Tom  went  up  to  his  sister's  room  that  night, 
she  drew  his  head  down  to  hers  and  whispered,  — 

"  Tom,  I  was  lying  in  the  alcove  while  you  were 
talking  to  Nanty  Dayles.  I  heard  all  you  said  !  " 

Tom  lifted  his  head  as  though  he  had  been  shot. 
The  doctor  had  charged  him  to  shield  Dorothy  from 
the  least  excitement.  Neither  had  alluded  to  the 
storm  since  the  night  of  his  return.  Dorothy  was 
not  sure  he  had  been  out  in  it ;  but  a  few  awful  hours 
had  burned  themselves  into  her  memory,  had  haunted 
her  imagination,  and  paralyzed  soul  and  body. 

She  drew  Tom's  head  down  quickly ;  she  devoured 
his  face  with  her  sweet,  warm  kisses. 

"  Don't  be  troubled  for  me,  dear,"  she  said  in  her 
old  tones.  "All  the  misery  has  gone.  I  can't  be 
unhappy  now  I  know  how  you  were  given  back  to 
me  —  to  all  of  us  —  out  of  that  awful  storm,  those 
hungry  waves.  I  shall  be  glad  and  thanking  God 
every  day  so  long  as  I  live.  I'm  tired  now  ;  I  want 
to  go  to  sleep.  To-morrow  you  will  find  the  old 
Dorothy  has  come  back  to  you." 

But  when  he  looked  in  her  glowing,  tear-stained 
face,  in  her  radiant  eyes,  on  her  tremulous  lips,  he 
knew  the  old  Dorothy  had  already  come  back  to 
them. 


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companions,  are  sure  ef  being  delightfully  entertained;  and  they  may,  if  they 
will,  take  a  lesson  from  brave,  unselfish  Madeline. 


Daryll  Gap.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.    Price  $1.50. 

The  celebrity  of  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND  as  an  authoress,  her  brilliant 
descriptive  powers,  and  pure,  vigorous  imagination,  will  insure  a  hearty  wel- 
come for  the  above-entitled  volume,  written  in  the  writer's  happiest  vein. 

"  A  story  of  the  petroleum  days,  and  of  a  family  who  struck  oil.  Her  plots 
are  well  arranged,  and  her  characters  are  clearly  and  strongly  drawn."  — 
Pittsburg  Recorder. 

iLenox  Dare.     By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.     Price  $1.50. 

A  story  of  New  England  people,  and  of  life  associated  with  Hampton 
Beach  and  its  vicinity.  The  plot  is  natural  and  well  treated,  and  the  senti- 
ments pure.  The  story_  is  very  entertaining,  and,  to  the  thoughtful  reader, 
instructive  and  stimulating. 

A  Woman's  Word,  and  how  she  kept  it.    By  VIRGINIA  F. 

TOWNSEND.     Price  $1.50. 

"This  is  a  thoroughly  charming  story,  natural,  wholesome,  and  extremely 
interesting.  The  heroine  is  a  delightful  creation,  and  all  the  dramatis personce 
are  remarkably  well  drawn.  It  is  pleasant  to  come  across  a  novel  so  entirely 
worthy  of  praise,  and  we  commend  it  without  reserve  to  all  our  readers."  — 
Charleston  News. 

Mostly  Marjorie  Day.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.    Price, 

cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

In  this  book,  there  is  the  endeavor  of  a  noble  and  lovable  girl  to  escape  from 
the  conventionalities  which  fettered  her  life,  and  engage  in  some  serious  duty. 
She  became  a  nurse,  and,  in  the  end,  had  her  exceeding  great  reward.  It  is  a 
bright,  spirited,  and  sometimes  delicately  humorous  story,  with  a  well  managed 
plot,  and  life-like  characters. 

But  a  Philistine.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.    Price  $1.50. 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  works  of  this  author.  It  is  a  story  of  natural 
thoughts  rather  than  events;  and  it  is  the  author's  unique  coupling  of  passive 
subject  and  vigorous  style  that  gives  the  work  its  attractive  quality.  The 
characters  are  strong,  and  several  of  the  scenic  descriptions  have  the  true  ring 
of  poetic  appreciation,  while  in  conversational  passages  the  diction  is  bright, 
pleasing,  and  varied. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


LEE  AND  SHEPARD'S  POPULAR  FICTION 


The  Dcerings  of  Medbury.     By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND. 
Price  $1.00. 

As  a  writer  of  sweet,  refined  fiction,  instinct  with  noble  ideals,  and  pervaded 
by  a  spirit  of  aspiration  toward  all  that  is  pure  and  lovely  and  of  good  report, 
VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND  is  unsurpassed.  She  is  a  poet  of  nature,  and  she 
weaves  her  beautiful  thoughts  and  dreams  into  story  after  story,  all  character- 
ized by  an  artistic  touch,  and  by  uplifting,  spiritual  ideals  of  life. 

Only  Girls.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.    Price  $1.50. 

In  this  charming  story,  uncle  Richard  says,  "  There  never  was  a  true  or 
noble  deed  in  the  world,  without  some  woman  "or  girl  was  at  the  bottom  of  it;  " 
and  upon  this  idea  the  author  has  shown  how  great  is  the  influence  which  a 
cousin  or  sister  can  have  over  her  companions  who  are  just  starting  to  seek 
their  fortunes  in  the  world.  Temptations  may  lead  them  astray,  but  repentance 
will  follow,  as  the  remembrance  of  a  gentle,  loving  friend  comes  like  a  ray  of 
light  to  dispel  the  clouds  of  darkness. 

The  Hollands.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.     Price  $1.00. 

A  new  issue  of  a.  novel  of  long  ago,  and  will  be  gladly  hailed  by  the  man 
readers  of  this  interesting  writer. 

This  is  one  of  Miss  TOWNSEND'S  best  efforts.  Her  appreciation  of  the  best 
side  of  human  nature,  her  pure,  moral  tone,  and  her  unquestioned  literary  skill, 
—  upon  these  qualities  her  popularity  rests  secure.  There  are  some  stirring 
scenes  in  this  book. 

Six  in  All.    By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.     Price  $1.00. 


desirable  things.  The  other  two  are  every-day,  commonplace  sort  of  people, 
in  whose  affairs  the  reader  is  much  interested  at  the  very  start.  Miss  TOWN- 
SEND  gives  an  entertaining  story,  and  teaches  a  wholesome  lesson.  She  puts 
into  the  mouths  of  her  characters  some  utterances  calculated  to  deepen  and 
strengthen  one's  faith  in  the  better  principles. 

The  Mills  of  Tuxbury.     By  VIRGINIA  F.  TOWNSEND.     Price 
$1.00. 

A  story  which  long  since  received  its  seal  of  public  approval  by  great  popu- 
larity, but  which  for  some  time  has  been  out  of  print.  It  is  now  republished  in 
a  neat  and  attractive  form  to  meet  a  constant  inquiry  for  the  author's  produc- 
tions. The  story  is  pure  and  elevating,  written  in  a  natural,  flowing  style,  and 
has  situations  of  thrilling  interest. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


LEE  AND  SHEPARD'S  POPULAR  FICTION 


AMANDA   M.   DOUGLAS'  NOVELS 

Osborne  of  Arrochar.     By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price, 

cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

"  In  this  novel,  the  author  introduces  us  to  an  interesting  family  of  girls, 
who,  in  default  of  the  appearance  of  the  rightful  heir,  occupy  an  old,  aristocratic 
place  at  Arrochar.  Just  as  it  has  reached  the  lowest  point  of  dilapidation, 
through  lack  of  business  capacity  on  the  part  of  the  family,  Osborne  appears 
to  claim  his  inheritance,  and  the  interesting  problem  presents  itself  of  marry- 
ing one  of  the  daughters  or  turning  the  family  out.  The  author  thus  gives 
herself  a  fair  field  to  display  her  skill  in  the  painting  of  character,  the  manage- 
ment of  incident,  and  the  construction  of  the  dialogue.  She  has  been  in  a 
large  degree  successful.  We  feel  that  we  are  dealing  with  real  persons;  and, 
as  to  the  management  of  the  story,  it  is  sufficient  praise  to  say  that  the 
interest  is  cumulative.  The  book  will  add  to  the  author's  reputation." —  School 
Journal,  N.  Y. 

The  Heirs  of  Bradley  House*    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 
Price  $1.50. 

"  The  author  has  won  a  most  honorable  place  in  the  literary  world  by  the 
character  as  well  as  cleverness  of  her  work.  Her  books  are  as  clean  and 
fresh  and  invigorating  as  a  morning  in  May.  If  she  is  not  deep  or  profound, 
she  stirs  in  the  heart  of  her  reader  the  noblest  impulses;  and  whosoever 
accomplishes  this  has  not  written  in  vain." — Chicago  Saturday  Evening 
Herald. 

"Whom  Katliie  married.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Price 
$1.50. 

Miss  DOUGLAS  wrote  a  series  of  juvenile  stories  in  which  Kathie  figured ; 
and  in  this  volume  the  young  lady  finds  her  destiny.  The  sweetness  and 
purity  of  her  life  is  reflected  in  the  lives  of  all  about  her,  and  she  is  admired 
and  beloved  by  all.  The  delicacy  and  grace  with  which  Miss  DOUGLAS  weaves 
her  story,  the  nobility  of  her  characters,  the  absence  of  everything  sensational, 
all  tend  to  make  this  book  one  specially  adapted  to  young  girls. 

A  Woman's  Inheritance.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Price 
$1.50. 

"  Miss  DOUGLAS  is  widely  known  as  a  writer  of  excellent  stories,  all  of  them 
having  a  marked  family  likeness,  but  all  of  them  bright,  fascinating,  and 
thoroughly  entertaining.  This  romance  has  to  do  with  the  fortunes  of  a  young 
woman  whose  father,  dying,  left  her  with  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  large 
property,  but  which,  under  the  management  of  a  rascally  trustee,  was  very  near 
being  wrecked,  and  was  only  saved  by  the  self-denying  devotion  of  one  who 
was  strictly  under  no  obligation  to  exert  himself  in  its  behalf.  The  interest  of 
the  story  is  well  sustained  to  the  very  close,  and  the  reader  will  follow  the 
fortunes  of  the  various  characters  with  an  absorbed  fascination."  —  New  Bed- 
ford Mercury. 

Sydiiie  Adriaiice.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Price  $1.50. 

In  this  book,  the  heroine,  being  suddenly  reduced  to  poverty,  refuses  an 
offer  of  marriasre,  because  she  thinks  it  comes  from  the  condescension  of  pity 
rather  than  from  the  inspiration  of  love.  She  determines  to  earn  her  living, 
becomes  a  governess,  then  writes  a  book,  which  is  successful,  and  inherits  a 
fortune  from  a  distant  relative.  Then  she  marries  the  man —  But  let  us  not 
tell  the  story.  The  author  has  told  it  in  a  charming  way. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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Home  Nook;    OR,  THE  CROWN  OF   DUTY.     By  AMANDA  M. 
DOUGLAS.    Price  $1.50. 

"This  is  an  interesting  story  of  home  life,  not  wanting  in  incident,  and 
written  in  a  forcible  and  attractive  style."  —  New  York  Graphic. 

This  volume  is  larger  than  most  written  by  Miss  DOUGLAS,  and  contains 
many  interesting  scenes  and  characters.  It  would  be  impossible  to  give  a 
condensed  synopsis  of  the  story;  but  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  it  is  a  fresh,  pure, 
and  bright  story,  full  of  the  touches  which  reveal  intense  feeling,  and  go 
straight  to  the  heart;  but  without  the  overstrained  sentiment  which  was  once 
the  bane  of  novels. 

Stephen  Dane.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Price  $1.50. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  mechanic  who  worked  his  way  up  from  poverty  to 
affluence.  It  is  complicated  by  a  murder,  committed  by  the  hero's  drunken 
father;  the  victim  being  the  proprietor  of  the  works  where  both  were  employed. 
The  hero  fell  in  love  with  the  young  daughter  of  the  murdered  man,  and  she 
became  the  lode-star  which  drew  him  on.  Not  that  she  had  a  fortune;  on  the 
contrary,  she  inherited  nothing,  and  she  owed  her  happiness  solely  to  the 
exertions  and  energy  of  her  lover.  It  is  beautifully  written,  and  much 
admired. 

Lost  in  a  Great  City.     By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price, 

cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

"  This  is  the  strongest  story  which  has  ever  come  from  the  pen  of  Miss 
DOUGLAS,  and  starts  off  with  a  dramatic  touch  which  chains  the  reader's 
attention  at  once,  and  holds  it  closely  till  the  last  page  is  read.  It  is  the  story 
of  a  little  girl,  Nora,  who,  becoming  separated  from  her  nurse  in  the  busy  and 
crowded  streets  of  New  York,  is  lost  beyond  discovery  for  many  a  year.  .  .  . 
The  denouement  is  entirely  satisfactory,  and  the  plot  of  the  story  is  finely 
conceived  and  carried  out,  with  not  a  page's  loss  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the 
reader."  —  St.  Allans  Messenger. 

Floyd  Grandon's  Honor.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Price 
$1.50. 

"  The  writings  of  Miss  DOUGLAS  have  found  acceptance  with  the  public, 
because  they  are  characterized  by  good  sense,  a  keen  insight,  and  an  apprecia- 
tion of  all  that  is  good  and  noble  in  human  life.  Her  stories  are  always  pure, 
always  pleasing,  always  elevating.  Floyd  Grandon  is  the  central  figure, 
around  whom  are  grouped  near  relatives  and  friends,  together  with  his  own 
family.  The  pursuits,  pleasures,  and  lives  of  this  charming  circle  at  Grandon 
Park  make  a  sunny  story  whose  brightness  is  not  altogether  unclouded,  for  it 
is  shadowed  by  the  villany  of  Floyd's  partner  in  business,  Mr.  Wilmarth, 
whose  fate  it  is  not  necessary  to  anticipate."  —  Home  journal. 

Hope  Mills.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price  $1.50. 

This  is  an  entertaining  novel.  The  many  characters  of  the  story  are  drawn 
with  skill,  and  impress  their  individuality  upon  the  reader,  and  the  interest  is 
well  sustained.  But  the  book  is  something  more  than  a  novel.  It  was  written 
to  exhibit  the  workings  of  co-operation  in  a  manufacturing  town.  Hope  Mills, 
having  been  closed  oy  a  panic  and  the  dishonesty  of  the  manager,  are  re- 
opened as  a  joint  stock  concern  by  the  operatives.  The  difficulties  and  final 
success  of  the  enterprise  are  portrayed  in  a  lively  narrative. 

Out  of  the  Wreck;  OR,  WAS  IT  WORTH  THE  VICTORY?    By 
AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price,  cloth,  $1.50. 


P1 

igagi 

saving  and  educating  her  children.  It  is  written  with  delightful  freshness, 
grace,  and  strength,  and  reveals  a  mind  of  remarkable  refinement  and  power." 
—  North  Adams  Transcript. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARO,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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